My voice trembles as I plead, “Let him go, Breck, please.”
Breck’s arm stays firmly in place. I see his struggle to regain control darkening his entire face. His jaw twitches and his hand is still locked into a tight fist. Seeing the ruthless brutality and rage radiating from Breck shocks me, leaving me lightheaded and a little disoriented as I take a step back, away from him. Breck sees me stumbling backwards and immediately drops his arm. Steven falls to the floor, gasping for air as Breck turns towards me with the raw agony of my reaction swimming in his eyes, drowning me along with him as guilt and sorrow consume my soul.
My fingers shake as I place my hand on his, wrapping them gently around his wrist, knowing the reason behind his despair. My eyes bore into his, silently pleading for him to understand that I’m not scared of him. I should be. Watching Breck raw and unleashed, and seeing the amount of blood pouring from Steven’s mouth and nose, should terrify the hell out of me, but it doesn’t. I was shocked, shaken even, but not afraid. Not of Breck.
I stand there, refusing to let go of his wrist until he slowly places his hand over mine. His grip is amazingly gentle, and I can’t possibly fathom the contradictions that make Breck who he is. Slowly, the fight and sorrow fade from his body and he takes my elbow, gathering me into his arms. His hand protectively cradles my cheek as he tangles his fingers in my hair, pressing my head against his chest as he holds me.
I don’t see Elise, her friends, or Steven leaving. I don’t hear anything other than the heavy pounding in Breck’s chest and his breath as he brushes his lips against my forehead, his voice gravely, “I’m sorry, Emma. You got hurt because of me.”
“I’m not hurt,” I assure him.
Breck’s gaze falls on his fingers as he holds them out for me to see. Blood is on his fingertips. My blood. Touching the back of my head, my fingers are smeared with the same dark red stain. All the sudden, I feel a little woozy. Every minute detail of the fight flashes through my mind. Then I feel the pain. My head is throbbing, so are my knees, and my arm burns like hell.
“We need to have you checked out.”
I hear the concern spilling into Breck’s words, but I shake my head, “It’s just a cut, not a big deal.”
The concern deepens as he examines my arm, then sees the blood coated rips in my leggings. Tilting my chin with his finger, he gives me a tilted smile, “So, I guess you’re not so good at the whole turning the other cheek thing either, huh?”
“Yeah, not so much, I suppose,” I laugh, feeling really good to release some of the tension.
“C’mon, Tyson, let’s get you somewhere I can take a closer look at the damages.”
I start to protest but the firm look in Breck’s eyes stops me. That, and Jess, Jason, and Gavin backing him up, insisting he take me home.
“I’ll drive your car to your apartment. Jason can follow me. Let Breck take a look at you, Em,” Jess pleads.
Too tired to argue, I give in. Twenty minutes later, Breck follows me inside when I unlock the door. “Where are your towels and alcohol?”
I send him to the bathroom while I make sure all my paintings are out of sight. I know he wanted to see them, but I can’t bring myself to show him, not yet. I feel nervous and shy as he guides me into a chair.
“I’m going to take your hair down so I can see the cut better. I want to be sure you don’t need to go to the ER.”
“I’m fine,” I mumble, knowing I look like a wreck and not wanting Breck seeing me this way.
“Stop being stubborn,” he softly admonishes, carefully taking the ponytail holder out of my hair before gently separating the tangled and abused locks.
I feel the wet towel against my scalp and I want to tell him to stop fussing over me but when I reach to grab the towel, he grabs my wrist, holding it firmly in place.
“I really will bend you over my knee this time if you don’t let me make sure you are okay,” he teases.
My cheeks flame and, for a second, I can’t decide if I want to test his threat or do as I’m told. Behaving, I relent. Once he’s satisfied that I don’t need professional medical attention, he cleans the cut. Kneeling beside me, he pours the alcohol on the towel and presses it against my arm.
“You sure you’ve never fought before?” he laughs, “because you seemed to be handling yourself pretty damn well back there, Em.”
“No. That was my first time and, hopefully, my last.”
The heat of Breck’s breath blows against my neck as he chuckles. Moving in front of me, he’s still on his knees as he places his hands on the top of my legs and spreads them far enough apart for him to slip in between them. I swallow hard, sitting up straight as I look down at Breck. My, he is breathtaking. Everything about him assaults my senses, and I scoot back in the hard kitchen chair as far as possible.
He tugs at my torn leggings, “These have got to come off.”
I feel the scarlet flush as I put my hands on top of his, “My legs are fine, really.”
“They’re bloody and I’m sure they are bruised all to hell. Now, raise your ass a little so I can slip them off of you,” he orders.
I do as I’m told and raise off my seat, but just a fraction, as I grab his shoulders, too embarrassed to look at him as he strips the leggings from my legs. Reaching down, I tug at my short skirt, trying to keep covered as Breck’s hands roam down the exposed flesh. He rubs his thumb over my knee and I wince.
“How badly does it hurt?” he asks, placing his hand on the back on my leg and gently raising my knee for closer inspection.
“Not much.”
“You have a bad habit of lying to me,” he chastises, raising his eyes to meet mine, “that’s a sin, you know.” His cocky smile warms the moist recess between my thighs, and I tug the skirt down harder. His eyes trail down my face, over my lips and neck, until they slowly leave a path of flaming chills down my body until his eyes stop at my hands, which are currently in a death grip, holding the small piece of denim firmly in place in my lap. Breck’s face clouds with indecision as he glances at the door, then at me, “You’re going to hurt like hell tomorrow, but you’ll live. With the blow to your head, though, I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”
“You just said that I’m fine.” My pulse races. I want him to stay just as much as I know he should leave.
“Regardless, I’m staying the night.” For the first time since I’ve met him, he looks lost, unsure of what to do.
Panic and tantalizing elation seep through my veins and my gaze falls to the floor with the overwhelming realization that his contradictions are starting to run off on me.
Letting out a soft sigh, he takes my chin in his hand, slowly rubbing his thumb across my bottom lip. Dropping his hand, dark disquietude brews in his eyes, “I won’t try anything with you.”
I can’t do anything other than give a soft nod. My mind is reeling from both relief and bitter, lonely affliction from his forced assurance. I know he’s noticed that I only have one bed and no couch. The thought of sleeping in the same bed as Breck leaves me more disoriented than the sharp blow to my head.
All his earlier uncertainty vanishes as Breck grabs the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head, exposing the sinew ripple of his chiseled torso.
Spinning around, I busy myself checking the three messages on my phone, trying to distract myself from the magnificence of Breck’s hard body, desperately wanting to trace my fingers against the art detailed ink on his skin again. It was all I could do not to offer myself to him that night; if I touch him now, I won’t have enough self-control to not beg him to make love to me.
Dad’s voice sends a strong shot of guilt straight to the core as I listen to his message saying he will catch up with me tomorrow. I delete the next message from Justin before listening to it, then my heart drops when I hear the final message from Edith Mason, the gallery owner, letting me know that she is cancelling our meeting tomorrow and will not be rescheduling at this time. Feeling the urge to break down and c
ry after the stress of all that’s happened tonight, I force myself to keep it together as I wonder what happened. When I previously spoke with the gallery owner, she seemed truly interested in seeing my work.
“Everything alright, Emma?” Breck asks, taking the phone from my hand.
“Fine,” I lie, racking up more sins and just wanting to forget about tonight, except for dancing in Breck’s arms and my getting ready to drift off to sleep with him next to me the entire night.
Studying me, he doesn’t look convinced. I should’ve known, he can read me so easily, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tugs at my short skirt, “This has to come off, too.”
“I’ll take it off when you turn around.”
The corner of his mouth tilts slightly, “Tonight, Emma, I’ll do as you ask, but the next time we’re sleeping in the same bed, I’m seeing every last beautiful inch of your body. Then, I’m touching everything I see before I taste it, taking my time purging you of your innocence.” His eyes darken and his jaw tightens as he rakes his hand roughly through his dusty brown hair. Grabbing my arm, he pulls me towards him. His face is so close to mine, I feel his shallow ragged breaths coming out in heated puffs against my skin. “You’re not a whore, Emma. You mean more to me than just some passing fuck. You know that, right?”
I’m speechless. Standing next to my bed, I can’t seem to think coherently enough to move or say anything as I stare at Breck looking at me with pain brimming his eyes. The back of my throat burns. Swallowing hard, I nod, “I know.”
“Get undressed and get into bed, Emma,” he demands before turning around, giving me privacy as I strip out of my skirt, climbing nervously into bed. Breck turns around and unbuttons his jeans, his fingers stopping half way down the zipper when he witnesses the slight panic in my expression, “I told you that I won’t try anything. You need to trust me, Emma.”
“I do.” I do. I trust that he won’t try to have me tonight and I’m just as positive that he will fulfill his promise of stripping me of my virginity. A large part of me wants him to do that now and guilt gnaws throughout me.
Slipping out of his jeans, he pulls the covers back and slides into the cold bed next to my body as my insides quake from my tsunami of emotions. I expect him to roll over, with his back to me, but he does the exact opposite. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me flush against his naked chest. I’m frozen in place for a few seconds before I relax enough to rest my head between his chest and chin, getting lost in the scent that belongs to only him. I can’t help but notice how I fit perfectly in his embrace.
“What did you hear on your phone that upset you, and don’t lie to me this time?”
“My meeting to present my paintings has been cancelled.” Saying those words cuts deeply, and I quickly brush a tear from my cheek before Breck sees me cry.
Brushing his lips against the top of my head, he softly whispers, “I’m sorry, Emma.”
Scooting a little closer to his warmth, I shrug, “It’s okay.”
“Always such a beautiful liar. When are you going to show me your paintings?”
“Soon,” I lie again, but he lets it go this time.
“You’ve had a shitty day.” Breck’s fingers smooth my hair as his thumb slides against the sensitive flesh on the side of my neck, “Get some sleep, Emma.”
I try, but sleep doesn’t come for hours.
Chapter Ten
I’ve always loved Christmas. The tranquility of time spent with family and friends gathered at my grandmother’s house while we celebrate the season are some of my fondest memories. Being back home has been bittersweet. Spending time with Dad reopens the wound of my leaving. The past few days have proven that, although I will always be grateful for the childhood and wonderful memories this town gave me, I no longer belong here.
My thoughts stray to Breck, like they have constantly since he dropped me off at the airport four days ago. He’s in New York, making final preparations for his new restaurant to open in two days. My fingers trace my cheek. Closing my eyes, I can still feel his lips from when they brushed so close against the corner of my mouth when he stepped away from me, his troubled eyes consuming every pore of my being before he left me to board my flight.
We’ve become inseparable, seeing each other every day. Nothing and everything has changed. In many ways, Breck’s still as guarded as the first day I met him. I know nothing of his past, other than the little Jess divulged, but he hides nothing about his life since he’s been in Boston. Gavin’s comment of my being Breck’s closest friend was said as a joke one night at the bar, but there was a truth in it that Breck didn’t deny. As the days turned into weeks, Breck’s attitude changed. His sexual advances towards me stopped, but the tension only grew until I feel like I’m going to explode, or go insane, I’m tempted to take bets on which will happen first. We’re not a couple, but we’re more than just friends, or it feels like we are even though there’s no proof to back that feeling.
His jealousy of Braden and Justin has grown, leading into some hefty arguments between us. I have no right to blame him when I’m just as jealous. The difference between my jealousy and his is that I don’t say anything about it or try to control his surroundings like he does mine. I don’t ask Breck how many women he’s been with since meeting me because I don’t want to know. It feels like hell wondering who he’s with every night as I toss and turn until I fall into a fitful sleep. No matter how hard I try not to think about it, the thought is always there, looming in the back of my mind, eating away at my sanity and scorching my soul.
Numerous women have made their intentions known, but Breck has turned down each one when I’ve been with him, leaving everyone, most of all me, in a state of shocked curiosity. His reputation has tamed while mine has become tainted, but I don’t care. Let people think what they want; they always do, anyway. I’m not naïve, I’m sure he’s had several of them after the times he walked me home and went back to the Dark Hole.
“Can’t you stay another day or two,” Justin asks, taking my hand and pulling me out of my private agony as I throw the last shirt inside my duffle bag. “I’ve missed you, Em.”
“I have to go home, Justin,” I reply a little harsher than intended, slipping my hand out of his and grabbing my bag.
“This is your home.” He looks so heartbroken as he watches me getting ready to leave, again.
“No, Justin, it’s not; not anymore. I have to go.”
Justin sinks onto my bed. I leave him there. The guilt I had about leaving him the first time is gone. I still care about him; in some form, he’s been a part of me my entire life. I’m not in love with him, and I never will be, no matter how much he wants me to be.
Dad meets me at the bottom of the stairs and takes my bag. His kind eyes, that I miss so much, glance from me to the top of the stairs before Dad takes my hand. “His heart will survive, honey. That’s the thing about a heart, it can break a million times, but will never die from unreturned love, even though it feels like it might.” Pulling me into his arms, he gives me his fatherly everything-will-be-okay squeeze, “You live your life, Em. Just come back and share some of it with me from time to time.”
Choking back tears, I hold onto my father tightly for several seconds, “I will Dad, I promise.”
The flight back home is mercifully on time and uneventful. After retrieving my luggage, I make my way through the crowd at Boston Logan International and hail a cab. As soon as I pay the driver and slip out into the bitter wind, I see my neighbor standing at the edge of the alley, waiting on his fix. My heart aches for him as I drag my tired body up the stairs. I freeze, dropping my bag to the floor, when I see the door to my apartment open, the flimsy lock broken.
The tiny apartment is empty, everything is gone, my paintings, my art supplies, my clothes, the few personal belongings I had on my dresser, even the bedspread is gone. Just the sheets are left scattered on the floor along with busted cans and packages of food from where my cabinets were rummaged thr
ough for something of worth. I don’t give a damn about anything other than my paintings and supplies. Those paintings were my life. Nothing in my world is stable right now. I’m broke; it took almost all of my measly savings to buy the plane tickets to see Dad. I hate my jobs, and not knowing what in the hell is going on between Breck and me has left me torn into pathetic shreds of ambiguity. I poured my heart and soul into my paintings, they are the only part of me that makes me feel balanced, whole. I was supposed to show them in three days to John Mazers, a prestigious artist and art collector who is opening a new galley. I had sent photos of the paintings to him, and he immediately set-up a meeting. Now, they’re gone, along with the last piece of security I have in my life right now, not to mention the chance to meet with Mr. Mazers, whose reputation for only giving one shot has been proven and feared in the art world.
Anger mixed with despair overrides my common sense as I take the stairs two at a time. The buzz of my phone doesn’t slow me down as I burst through the old door to the stained, littered sidewalk outside. “I’ll call you back in a few, Breck,” I rush breathlessly, heading towards the alley to ask my neighbor if he knows any details, anything, about who broke into my apartment.
“Wait! Emma, I- I’ve been staring at my phone for hours trying to get up enough courage to make this call.”
I hear the indecision and torment in his voice, and my heart stops, terrified of what he’s getting ready to say. I need Breck, I can’t lose whatever it is that we have, especially not now. He means too much, even if being near him is slowly destroying me. My pace slows as I grip the phone tighter. My hand is trembling as I wait on the words I always knew would come.
“These last four days have been hell. You have consumed my every thought. I can’t concentrate on making the decisions I need to make for the restaurant, in my life, or for me, because you are dominating everything in my damn head.”
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