More Than a Memory

by Marie James

  I roll closer to him, wincing from the soreness.

  “I’m sorry.” His look is sincere, but he’s still a man, so the glint of triumph is still in his eyes.

  “No you’re not.” I slap at his chest.

  He clasps my hand and holds it to his mouth. “I hate that I hurt you. Seeing you in pain is the last thing I want.”

  I close my eyes at his sweet words. “I’d go through it every day if it means you never stop looking at me the way you did last night.”

  It’s true. The sting and ache from his body pales in comparison to the joy that took over my heart.

  His big hand brushes over my cheek as I try to express without words how special last night was for me. Appreciation at his tenderness, euphoria at the way he handled my body, and mental acuity at wanting to do it again is all there on my face.

  His face softens, his mouth tilting up in a small smile and eyes filling with promise. His lips find mine in an unhurried, passionate kiss—a kiss that translates into a promise of more. Sexual tension is on the edge as it always is, but this kiss is gracious, humble, and filled with assurance, quelling any doubts I may have had before today.

  “You’re going to be late,” I mutter against his mouth after the kiss slows to soft pecks and nips.

  He groans in aggravation and shifts his hips against me. The heat of his erection stokes the fire always present when he’s nearby.

  My pulse increases as he presses harder against me, a need building from some place so deep it almost scares me. The fear of the unknown, however, isn’t enough to keep me from wanting him again.

  “Fuck,” he hisses when I open my legs for him. “I’m going to quit the team.”

  My eyes wide, I stare back at him. “You can’t.”

  “If I did, I could spend so much more time with you, in you.” His mouth finds mine again, licking, biting, and toying before he pulls back on a defeated groan. “I have to go.”

  He jerks back and stands, as if he’s fighting invisible forces pulling him to the bed. His erection stands proud, jutting out below his naked hips. In the darkness, it seemed less daunting, but seeing it now, it’s no wonder I’m a little sore this morning.

  He leans in one last time. “Take a hot bath, beautiful. It’ll ease some of the soreness.”

  “I will,” I promise. A hot bubble bath and relaxing music sounds like the perfect way to start my day.

  Tugging the corner of the sheet, he surveys my exposed flesh. Gripping his length tightly, he strokes up and down at leisurely pace. The fire in his eyes combined with the movement of his hand makes me squirm.

  “Take the bath, Olivia. I’m going to need you again when I get back.”

  I nod in agreement, hating baseball today as he leaves the room.

  Exhaustion, emotional overload, and the exertion from last night drags me back under. I wake hours later, slightly less sore, realizing I fell back asleep before I even heard Bryson leave the apartment. I reach to the bedside table, searching for my phone to check the time when my eyes land on a sticky-note with a heart on it. Beside the thoughtful note are two painkillers and a bottle of water.

  I consume his gift and scoot off the bed. The sting when my body hits the hot water quickly abates, and before long, I’m in heaven. Muscles ease their tension as tiny bubbles pop against my skin. The ringing of my phone destroys my little slice of heaven. I ignore it, letting it go to voicemail, only for it to blast through the bathroom again a minute later.

  Sighing, I shake a cloud of bubbles from my hands and grab my phone.

  “Hey, Mom.” I close my eyes again and slink lower in the tub.

  “Hey, Ollie. You sound tired. Are you getting sick?” So invasive.

  “No, I’m in the bath.”

  “You shouldn’t have answered if you were in the tub, dear.”

  “I let it go to voicemail and you called right back. Is it important?” I hate rushing my mom, but a relaxing bath is anything but relaxing with her concern in my ear.

  “There’s been some fraudulent activity on your credit card. I just wanted you to know your new one should be here in a week or so.”

  I sit up, water sluicing around me. “Fraudulent activity?” I shop online, so someone getting my information if I made the mistake of purchasing from an unsecure site isn’t a far stretch.

  “Yes. Someone must have gotten your card. I’m concerned about Bryson, Ollie. Has he had access to your purse?”

  I bristle. “He’s not like that, Mom. Why are you even suspecting him?”

  He’s not the type, right? He wouldn’t just get close to me to use me, would he? Last night flashes through my head. He wouldn’t steal that from me, would he?

  “All the purchases were made in a two-hour time span,” she informs.

  “Sometimes I go a little crazy when shopping online.” My pulse pounds in my head at the possibility of Bryson being that guy and my hands tremble to the point where I’m afraid I’m going to drop the phone.

  “This wasn’t you. These purchases were made in person a couple weekends ago. The card was used locally, Ollie. Now, I’ve contacted the police and they are working on getting video from the stores. We’ll know then.”

  I sigh in relief and sag against the back of the tub.

  “Those are my charges, Mom.”

  “Don’t protect him, Ollie.”

  I can’t help but laugh. One second she’s talking him up and trying to shove me onto him, and the next she’s accusing him of credit card fraud.

  “I’m not,” I snap. “His sister Emerson came to town and we went shopping. We went to Trader Joe’s and the outlet mall, so there will be numerous charges from there, and we ended up at that cute little sandwich shop on twenty-third.”

  “Really?” Her voice cracks and I can all but see the tears welling in her eyes. “You went shopping?”

  “I did,” I confirm. “Had a lot of fun. I’ve gone out several times recently. Lunch, the dog park, even tagged along to a few baseball practices with Bryson.”

  “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that!” Of course I do, I can hear it in her voice. “So, are you and Bryson, you know…?”

  I groan into the phone, resisting the urge to sink below the water line and let the bubbles swallow me up.

  “Don’t you need to call the police and cancel their investigation?”

  “Oh, damn! Yes, I do. Love you, Ollie.”

  “Love you, too.” I disconnect the call before she can ask any other intrusive questions.

  A bathrobe is all I bother putting on. I bounce around the apartment practically on the tips of my toes, ecstatic about his promise and what the plans will be when he gets back.

  I’m going to need you.

  Not want—need.

  That word is so powerful to me, and every time I think about the way it fell from his lips in his husky voice this morning, my body responds differently than it ever has. I’m flying through the clouds by the time the afternoon rolls around, the smile that was on my lips when he kissed me this morning never really dissipating. I feel weightless, and I’m in desperate need of grounding myself.

  Call it a character flaw, but reading too much into situations has always been an issue with me. Last night was amazing, as I hope every night from now on will be, but that doesn’t keep me from wondering where it’s all heading or when it will inevitably collapse. It doesn’t prevent the insidious doubt from creeping in, the voice that constantly tells me to open my eyes and quit dreaming like a little girl when she thinks about her future and the fairy tale she wants her life to be. I dreamed of that fairy tale once, and in the end, it left me broken, a partial shell of who I once was.

  I don’t open my laptop out of spite or some negative emotion. Regret and guilt almost didn’t even register when I woke up in his arms this morning. There was a twinge, but not the torrential onslaught I imagined it would be. Had we taken that first step the night I begged him to kiss me, the morning after chain reaction of going all the
way when I knew I wasn’t ready would have been destructive to the bond we’ve been forming. I was ready last night.

  I pull up a video and hover the mouse over the play triangle. The guilt I feel now is for Bryson, not Duncan. I can tell, little by little, I’m moving on. I know what happened last night was meant to happen exactly like it had. I can admit I have serious feelings for Bryson without hating myself for it, but today, I miss Duncan.

  Even with all of that info, I still hit play.

  “You look better.”

  “I still feel like shit.”

  “You’re gorgeous. Even better looking than the day I fell in love with you.”

  “And what day was that, sweet cheeks?” I smile, watching his eyes lighten up. It’s my favorite part of this video. He’d just started his first round of chemo, so the drugs hadn’t destroyed him yet.

  “First day of freshman year.”

  “I was covered in acne and had braces.”

  “Like I said, even better looking than the day I fell in love with you.”

  A heavy thumb forces me to jerk my chin up. My eyes land on Bryson’s backpack on the floor and travel up his legs until landing on his gorgeous, but extremely exasperated face. His eyes dart from mine to the laptop as Duncan’s voice tells me he loves me. I close the lid on the laptop, my eyes never leaving his face. No sense in trying to hide it now.

  “Bryson, I—”

  His hand flips up to silence me and I’m grateful for it. I honestly didn’t even know what I was going to say. I watch him pace, my heart rate increasing with each heavy step.

  He turns his back to me, his hands plowing through his hair. Denying me the look in his eyes is more painful than I ever thought it could be. The lack of insight to how he feels guts me, causing my stomach to flip with unease, and I have to wonder if it is intentional, a way to hurt me like I’ve clearly hurt him.

  “Am I just a placeholder? A surrogate because you can’t have the man you truly desire?” The pain is evident in his voice without even having to see the same reaction on his face. Defeat slumps his shoulders as he takes another step away.

  I shake my head no, even though he can’t see my face. “No,” I sob, hanging my head in shame for making him feel this way.

  “I let it go before, Liv. It cut me deep the day I came in here and you were watching those damn videos, but I figured you needed more time, so I gave it to you.” He spins around, and the tears on his cheeks slay me. “It’s always one step forward and ten steps back with you.”

  Jerky hands swipe at the tears rolling down his cheeks. His heavy breathing fills the small room as his hands clasp the back of his neck, tugging to ease the tension I’ve brought on. It’s clear he’s upset with me, and possibly even more furious that he’s so emotional over it.

  “I’m here, Liv. Me! I’m more than a memory.” He pounds his hand against his chest, his lips working into a tight line to control his emotion. “We made love last night. When you gave me…fuck! I lost myself to you in this bedroom. How fucked up is it that I come home and realize I’ve lost you to him?” He jabs his finger at the laptop still sitting on my lap. “No, fuck that,” he continues. “It’s apparent I never had you.”

  The tremor in his last words and dullness suddenly hitting his eyes all show his defeat. Tears fall, but it’s the slam of his bedroom door a few seconds later that breaks me. My lips quiver uncontrollably as resignation that I’ve lost him too descends on me. Unsure what to do, I gather my laptop and hide away in my room, hating that I need Duncan more now than ever.

  Chapter 34

  Bryson

  “Fuck!” I bellow, loathing the way my frustration is bouncing off the walls.

  I didn’t think getting Olivia to care for me was going be easy, but I sure as shit never thought it would be this hard. I felt like we crossed over into new territory last night. I saw the affection in her eyes, felt it in the way she clung to me. It was with reverence, not desperation and despair. I had her last night. She was one-hundred percent with me in that bed. I had every piece of her. There was no room for Duncan there, but that didn’t last long.

  The grin on my face was so wide, the stars in my eyes so bright, people even commented on how happy I looked, and I was—until I got home, expecting her to be as elated to see me, only to find him right back between us. I had my doubts; it’s her pattern. We get closer, then she pulls away—I don’t know why I let myself hope for anything different.

  I squeeze my fists tight at my sides, trying to talk myself into keeping them from slamming into the thin walls.

  Am I pissed? Fuck yeah I am. Did she deserve to be yelled at when I’ve know the score all along? Part of me thinks so, but the section of my heart that sees only her knows better.

  I resolve myself to apologizing, but pace my room for a few more minutes, trying to calm down so I don’t explode again and giving her time to absorb my words and frustration.

  I take a final deep breath before lifting my hand to knock on her door. For weeks, I’ve just walked right in. We’ve spent every second of our time together, but this evening, it doesn’t feel right. Before my knuckles can land against the wood, I hear his voice, and any calm I’d managed before this second vanishes as if it never existed. My jaw clenches so hard, my teeth hurt. Lowering my hand, I take a step back, resisting the urge to kick the door in and demand she never watch the videos again. How can she start a life with me when she’s living in the past?

  The insidious doubt snakes up my spine and settles like a boulder in the pit of my stomach. Maybe I misread her. Damn, maybe she was faking it. Can passion and something akin to love look the same? Was she imagining it was Duncan she was with?

  Her sobs break my mental battle and I reach for her door handle, hating that she’s hurting, hating that I may have been the one to cause some of that pain, but once again, his voice seeps through, oozing like a virus around the frame. Her pain becomes less of a concern when my heart is practically shattered, circling the drain. The faith and hope I’d allowed myself to build drains out of me. I leave it at her closed door and escape the apartment. Staying here will only lead to more words and sacrifice falling on deaf ears.

  I don’t even bother with my truck, needing the cool fall air and expulsion of energy to help my attempt to regain composure. Every step I take is one more step I regret. Walking away from her isn’t the answer, but sticking around while he consumes every corner of her heart isn’t the smartest thing either.

  Knowing I can’t go back there tonight without ending up in her room and begging her to love me, pleading for her to give me just a sliver of her heart, I pull out my phone and call Liam. It rings twice, then goes to voicemail. I call again. It’s apparent he’s screening his calls, and I don’t have the patience for that shit right now.

  He answers on the second ring. “Dude, don’t you know how to fucking text?”

  “Can I crash in your room tonight?” Sitting on the front steps of the math and science building, I watch as a few people walk along the sidewalk chattering with companions.

  “She finally kick your ass out? That’s rough, man.”

  “She didn’t…” My voice trails off on a frustrated breath. I’m not getting into this shit with him now or ever. “Can I just crash?”

  “You know I don’t give a shit, but I’m not sharing my bed or helping you blow up the fucking air mattress.” I sigh in relief.

  “Thanks, man. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  My trek across campus to the dorms doesn’t go as smoothly as one would hope considering my mood.

  “Hey there, Daniels.” The feminine purr comes from beside one of the many statues marking the campus.

  I look over and see a girl I recognize, but don’t know personally. She has to be a cleat chaser, or someone from one of my classes.

  I nod in her direction, but turn my attention back to the sidewalk, refusing to engage any further.

  “You looked stressed. I can relieve some of that for you.�
� Cleat chaser.

  She’s absolutely gorgeous, long brown hair, piercing hazel eyes, fingernails long enough to do the type of back damage I crave, but the sight of her makes me sick. And that’s when I realize I’m in trouble. A couple months ago, I wouldn’t have even bothered finding a bed. I would’ve dragged her into a dark corner and fucked her standing up. Now, I don’t even carry a condom in my wallet. Why would I when the only girl I can imagine being inside of lives in the same apartment?

  I scrub my hand over my face and shake my head. I’ve got it so fucking bad, I can’t even be upset about it. Hundreds of women willing to sleep with me with little to no effort on my part—all of these options, including the one standing in front of me hiking her skirt up a little higher to reveal her lace garter belt and thigh high stockings—and my dick doesn’t so much as twitch in interest.

  “No thanks,” I mutter and walk away.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t chase me down and try to convince me otherwise. I’ve dealt with several girls these last couple weeks who have struggled with my rejection, and the things they offer as a means to convince me to fuck them are pitiful. Hell, not even that—I can’t count the offers of “just let me suck your dick” I’ve gotten since I started school here.

  Later than I expected, I make it to Liam’s dorm room. He yells for me to come in when I knock. I’ve never been here before, but he warned me about his weirdo roommate. It’s only when I step inside do I realize just how damn weird the guy is. His entire side of the room is full of screens—not even a bed, just computer equipment—which are currently filled with some space game. He’s wearing Beats headphones and doesn’t even bother acknowledging my presence as I step inside.

  I jerk a questioning thumb over at him and Liam just shakes his head.

  “What are you working on?” I ask, surprised to find him sitting at his tiny desk with his head bent over an actual textbook.

  “Fucking World History,” he bitches.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you with a book before.”