by Chloe Walsh
But that didn’t stop me from admitting, "I miss that boy."
"That boy is dead," he replied. "So don’t waste your time searching for someone who isn’t inside me anymore," Jordan added, voice gruff and full of emotion. "Just…" Closing his eyes, he looked up to the ceiling and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just accept me for the person I am now."
"I am," I croaked out.
Silence enveloped us then and I strived to find the words to break it.
"Maybe we should take this back to the start," Jordan finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He walked around to the other side of the bed and emptied the contents of his pockets onto the nightstand before looking over at me and smiling. "I'm Jordan, I'm thirty-years-old, a meat-eating Virgo with a master's degree in sociology. I split my life into working two full time jobs, one of which is with a local charity that works with victims of sexual abuse and rape. The other is St. Luke's hospital where I work as an on call crisis counselor in the psychiatric department. In my spare time, I volunteer at some of the shelters and halfway houses I used to reside in, and for some of those residents, I am their sponsor. Oh, and I'm also married," he added with a smirk. "And I've been in love with the same woman since I was four years old. I've been a shitty husband, but I plan on changing that." He unfastened the clasp of his watch and placed it on the nightstand alongside his wallet, keys, and phone. "I'm recovering an alcohol and drug dependency that almost cost me my life. I've been sober for six years, three months, and twenty-two days." He sank down on the opposite side of the bed and smiled the brightest smile at me before saying, "Any questions?"
"Only a couple million," I mumbled, feeling completely stumped. "Okay." Shaking my hands out, I stood up and turned to face him. "I'm Hope Carter, a twenty-six-year-old Taurus with a penchant for story-telling and a vivid imagination." My cheeks flamed as I spoke. I felt suddenly very stupid and foolish, like I was reading the biography on the back of one of my novels. I was rehearsing four or five lines I knew by heart. And as I spoke the words, describing who I was, the feeling of being lost grew inside of me. "I'm the only girl out of a family of six kids." Was this really me? "I'm obsessed with reality television shows." Was this all my life entailed? "I've only ever had one boyfriend." Christ, I was boring. "And I married him."
"Talk about lucky," Jordan mused and I balked.
Why in God's name was he asking me about him? "What's there to say?"
Jordan's brows rose in confusion. "What?"
I stared back at him. "What?"
"It's a figure of speech, Hope," he explained slowly. "I meant that I was lucky."
"Right," I laughed nervously. "I knew that." Totally didn’t, but anyway…
We stood at opposite sides of his bed, both staring at the other. His green eyes were locked on my face, taking in every frown, every blink of uncertainty I was feeling. He was so aware of me, so keenly observant that it both unnerved and delighted me. The way he looked at me, the way he gave me his complete and absolute attention excited something inside of me and I wanted nothing more in this moment than to drag him onto this bed and straddle him.
But I wouldn’t.
Not yet, at least.
Unless he wanted me to…
Did he want me to?
Ugh, I hated this – I hated second guessing myself.
"Relax," he whispered gruffly as he opened the buttons on his shirt, revealing a lean, ripped stomach with tightly cut muscles and a sprinkling of dark hair trailing beneath his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his black slacks.
Immediately, my gaze landed on the jagged scars marring his otherwise perfect skin. "Jordan," I whispered, broken at the sight. It crippled me; knowing he'd done this to himself.
I took a step towards him.
Immediately, he stepped back.
"I don’t…" Words trailing off, I hung my hands limply at my sides. "I feel so bad."
"This is on me, Hope Carter, not you." His voice was full of heat and certainty as he spoke. "These marks are on my body because there was a time in my life when the physical pain was easier to deal with than the mental fucking torture." His green eyes were locked on mine as he spoke, "Again, not on you, Keychain." Inhaling deeply, he reclaimed the space he'd put between us. "Never on you."
"I feel like I failed you," I strangled out, barely able to breathe.
"Don’t be sad for me," he whispered. "I'm the one that failed you."
When his shirt was gone, Jordan's hands moved to the buckle of his belt and I felt my body sag a little, my heart hammering hard in my chest, as he stripped. He never took his eyes off me as he slowly unbuckled his belt before undoing the zipper, revealing his tight, black boxer shorts.
He looked at me expectantly, his green eyes piercing through every wall and cover-up I had built to keep him out.
My hands shook with the effort as I yanked my shirt over my head and tossed it carelessly on the floor at my feet. I was trembling from head to toe, fear and anticipation residing inside of my heart, as I kicked off my sneakers and jeans before reaching behind my back and unclasping my bra, baring my breasts to him, my hardened nipples straining for his touch.
Clad only in a pair of plain, cotton white panties, I knelt on my side of the bed and paused, unsure of what to do next. In any of my novels, I wouldn’t have to think twice about this because the hero would take complete control of the situation, but this wasn’t one of my stories. This was real life, and this was Jordan. He continued to stare at me for the longest moment before finally releasing a ragged breath and mirroring my actions by kneeling on the bed.
Plucking up the courage to do what I wanted, I closed my eyes, knelt forward, placed my hands on his shoulders and leaned closer. Prepared for rejection, surprise and lust flooded through my body when I felt his lips cover mine, warm, tender and oh so familiar. His mouth was on mine and it felt right. Like I was home.
This man was mine.
All of him.
Even the broken pieces.
Moving slowly, I pressed myself closer, and probed his bottom lip with my tongue. He opened for me, willingly accepting what I was offering. Excitement thrummed inside of me, joined by lust and desire, forming a desperate need to be underneath this man right now.
Tightening my hold on his shoulders, I gently probed his skin with my nails, telling him with my touch that I was thoroughly enjoying what he was doing to me and I wanted more. He seemed to get my meaning because he gave it to me. Harder kisses, more impatient, fast, heated, longing. I wanted him so desperately, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I was oozing the smell.
Breathless, I gasped into his mouth and moaned loudly when his hand curled around my hip and pulled me closer. This was amazing. It was everything and more and I needed to have him inside of me. Growing more frantic with every kiss, I slid my fingers under the waistband of his boxers and tugged him closer, desperate to feel his skin on mine.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered as he cupped my face in both of his hands and exhaled shakily. "It hurts." Pausing, Jordan lowered his face to mine and kissed me softly before pulling back. "How much I love you?" He kissed me again, harder this time, before whispering, "It's physically painful for me," against my lips. "Loving you hurts, and leaving you hurts. It all hurts, Hope. Every bit of it."
My heart swelled so much I felt it crack clean open in my chest. Reaching up, I covered his hands with mine and squeezed. "I'm here." An outpour of love and unconditional devotion for this man poured from every part of my soul. I wanted to heal him. I wanted to love him so hard he never had to feel another ounce of pain for the rest of his life. "I'm right here, Jordy."
"I'm so hollow inside, Hope," he whispered, tightening his hold on my face. I welcomed the pressure. It meant he was really here with me. This wasn’t a dream. He was back in my life, and I was back in his bed. "But I'm done disappointing you. And I'm done running away. I'm done pushing you away."
"It's okay," I breathed, heart racing dangerou
sly fast.
Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to mine and said, "I know what I am, Hope – all kinds of fucked up and broken. I'm not even sure if I'm capable of giving you everything I've promised. But I'm here, and I'm yours, and I'm willing to try..."
I couldn’t hear another word of it, his pain was threatening to overtake me, so I kissed him instead; reclaiming his mouth with mine.
I was starving for him; his attention, his love, his affection. Nothing could sate this desperate need I had inside to be filled up by this man.
Unable to bear the extreme heat burning through my body, I tugged at the waistband once more, clumsily trying to free him from the restraints of the fabric.
"Slow down," he whispered between kisses as I practically mounted him.
Nope.
Uh-uh.
No way in hell was I slowing down now.
Dragging his body down on mine, I clawed at his back like an attention starved, semi- deranged kitten, and rocked my hips frantically. I wasn’t a stranger to orgasms, I'd had plenty over the years with the help of my trusted vibrator, but what I needed right now was something much more. What it was, I wasn’t entirely sure, but I had no doubt I was searching for something.
Closeness.
Intimacy.
Love.
His body moved above mine as he kissed me into a drug-induced trance of ecstasy. Aroused and drowning in the feel of him, I slid my hands down his back, desperate to feel every inch of his skin. Slipping my hands beneath the fabric of his boxers, I moved my palms over his tight ass, unable to stop myself from squeezing his pert cheeks.
As soon as it had started, it was over and everything went to hell.
Ripping his mouth away from mine, Jordan jerked clean off the bed, backing away from me like I had just scalded him. "What?" I breathed, panting, as I leaned up on my elbows to look at him. "What's wrong?"
"Don’t ever do that again," Jordan shot back, tone hoarse and shaken, as he glared at me with accusing eyes.
"Do what?" I gaped at him in sheer confusion. "What did I do?"
"Touch me there," he snapped, eyes wild and full of fury. "Never again, Hope." He ran a hand through his curls and rolled his shoulders. "Never again."
"But I thought you wanted–"
"No!" he snarled. "I don’t want… just no, Hope. Fucking no."
And that's when it sank in.
What I'd done.
What I had unintentionally provoked.
One innocent move had caused the walls of Jordan to fly up faster than the bullet from a gun.
"I'm so sorry," I blurted out, mortified, as I scrambled off the bed and rushed to his side.
Jordan dodged my embrace and stalked out of the room before closing the door quietly behind him, leaving me standing in his bedroom reeling.
Oh my god.
What did I do now?
Go after him and force him to talk to me?
Wait here and see if he came back?
I felt like a rapist. Like I had just forced my own husband into doing something he didn’t want to. Disgust laced through me, followed by a heady amount of resentment. I didn’t mean it. Didn’t mean to upset him. I was trying to show him love.
"Fuck," I muttered as I padded over to where my shirt lay on the floor with my jeans and bra. With a heavy heart, I dressed quietly before flopping down in misery on the mattress.
I was so out of my element here.
I had no idea how to handle this man and the demons that came hand in hand with being with a man that had endured the suffering he had.
I debated leaving, wondering if that's what Jordan wanted me to do, if the reason he was staying away for so long was because he wanted me to go, but decided against it. I wasn’t a coward. I would face this like I faced everything else in my life; head on.
Jordan was missing for so long that I ended up slipping under the covers and dozing off.
When the mattress finally dipped beside me, signaling Jordan's return, I was drowsy and barely awake. "Are you okay?" I whispered as I turned onto my side to face him, not daring to reach for him. I did not want a repeat performance of earlier. I already felt like shit and didn’t think my ego could take another Jordan sized blow.
"Yeah," he whispered in reply, laying on his side facing me. "I'm sorry."
My heart squeezed tightly in my chest. "Me, too."
"I thought you'd be gone," he added, his voice barely more than a whisper as he looked into my eyes. "Wouldn’t have blamed you."
Believe me, I thought about it… "Running is your forte," I replied, resting my face on my hands as I looked across the bed at him. "Besides, I think I love your mattress."
My words caused him to crack a small smile. "I love you."
I bit back a weary-hearted sigh and told him that I loved him, too, even if being here and not being able to touch him was breaking my heart a little.
I must have watched him for hours after that, long after he'd fallen asleep, memorizing the plains of his face and the shadows under his eyes. Jordan looked more like the man I used to know when he was sleeping. His features softened. He wasn’t so on edge. He wasn’t so…haunted.
I debated, several times throughout the course of the night, on reaching over and stroking his face, his hair, his beautiful, scarred body, but decided against it. I didn’t want to sleep alone anymore and I knew that’s exactly what would happen if he woke up and caught me trying to cop a feel.
It was after three o clock in the morning when my eyelids finally began to flutter shut from exhaustion, and it was at this exact time my phone chose to vibrate obnoxiously on the nightstand beside my head. Snaking a hand out from beneath the covers, I swiped my cell up and looked at the screen.
One missed call from Teagan.
But it had barely rung out?
Redialing her number, I held my phone to my ear and waited. The call went straight to her voicemail.
Anxiety gnawed inside of me and I tried four more times to call her back before throwing the covers off myself and sitting up.
Something was wrong.
I couldn't put my finger on what exactly, but I just had this horrible feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.
None of this was sitting well with me.
Why hadn't she called me back?
Why was she not answering now?
What the fuck was going on?
Unable to just lay here with no answers, I slipped out of bed and quietly kicked on my sneakers. I took one more glance at my sleeping husband before slipping out of the room and creeping downstairs.
When I reached the kitchen, I called a 24hr cab company I kept on my phone's speed dial and shrugged on my coat. I needed to make sure they were both okay. Call it strange, but I couldn’t wait until morning. I needed to go home. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that was screaming at me to go back.
"Where are you going?" I heard Jordan ask just as I was opening the front door.
Burying the shriek of surprise on the tip of my tongue, I swung around to face him. "I need to go check on Teagan."
"Right now?" He stood on the middle step of the stairs, still clad in his boxers and sporting a confused, sleepy expression. "Hope, it's like three in the morning."
"I know." My cheeks reddened in embarrassment. I knew it sounded dumb and I looked insane, but I couldn’t exactly explain the reasons for my anxiety – at least not without incriminating Jordan. "I just have to, okay?"
He stared hard at me for the longest moment before finally nodding. "Let me get dressed and I'll drive you home."
"No need. I've called a cab." I checked the screen of my phone before saying, "It should be here any minute now."
"Well, just let me run up and change and I'll come with you–"
"No!" I interrupted bluntly, flinching when I saw the pain in his eyes at my rejection. "Noah doesn’t like strangers in the house since Einín," I began to ramble, and technically it wasn’t a lie. He was incredibly cauti
ous of who was around his wife now. "I'm just going to go on my own, okay?"
"Stranger," Jordan mused softly.
"I didn’t mean that –" the sound of a car horn beeping both signaled my cab and interrupted my train of thought.
"It's fine," Jordan mumbled before turning on the staircase and heading back up the steps. "Goodnight, Hope."
"Yeah," I squeezed out. "Goodnight, Jordan."
Chapter Five
HOPE
When the cab finally pulled up outside Teagan and Noah's house, it was four in the morning and the place was lit up like the fourth of July. Teagan's shiny white range rover was parked in its usually spot, but there was no sign of Noah's Lexus. Immediately, a trickle of unease rolled through me.
"Thanks for the ride." Tossing a bundle of cash at the driver, I shoved the cab door open and practically threw myself out of the back seat. Dashing up the porch, I took two steps at a time, my lanky legs a great asset in times of emergency. I didn’t need to knock; the front door was wide open.
The silence, when I stepped inside the foyer, was eerie and my hackles rose.
Something was wrong.
I could feel it right down to my bones.
Something bad had happened.
Maybe it was good thing Jordan had come home when he had. My uncle Noah was involved in some dark and shady shit, and I was beginning to slip into this crazy world of underground violence. Maybe Jordan was my way out.
However, every thought, fear, and obstacle my day had thrown at me disintegrated into thin air the moment Noah burst through the front door of South Peak Road, shirtless and drenched in blood.
"Oh my god," I gasped. I threw my hand up to my mouth in horror and gaped at him. Were those stab wounds on his stomach and chest?
He didn’t seem to see me or even notice I was there. He moved primitively, on instinct, as he grabbed a throw off the back of the couch and quickly disappeared outside and into the darkness.
Shocked and unsure of what to do, I just stood in the foyer, gaping out the wide open front door. A few minutes passed before he returned in through the doorway, this time with a small frame bundled up in the throw and cradled in his arms.