Jack Hammer (The Stripped Duet Book 2)

by Vargo, Tabatha

  “Chelsey,” he whispered. “What’s wrong, baby? Why won’t you talk to me? Tell me what I did so I can try to fix it.”

  Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to talk about it. Especially considering what day it was. One year ago to the day I’d lost our baby. I just wanted to drown it all away with alcohol until I passed out. I didn’t want to be conscious again until the day was over, and the sun of a new day was blazing.

  “I’m not doing this, Blaine. I can’t.”

  I slid off my chair and stumbled a little before catching my balance on the edge of the bar. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been drinking, but I was definitely aware of it now. The world spun and Blaine split into two.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and then tried to walk past him, but I nearly fell into him in my attempt.

  “Jesus,” he cursed, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the door.

  “Let go of me, Blaine,” I growled, yanking my arm from him.

  I stumbled back and into something firm. Two large hands came up and held onto my biceps, keeping me upright and against the wall of heat at my back. When I looked up, I recognized the guy holding me as one of the frat guys.

  “Sounds to me like the lady doesn’t want you bothering her anymore.” His deep voice rumbled against my back and I squirmed to move away from the feeling.

  Blaine’s jaw tightened, the pulse in the side of his neck pounding hard and fast against his skin. Fury filled his eyes as he stared at the hands holding my arms, and then his eyes found mine. Again, a chill tingled down my spine. Things weren’t going to end well, and the last thing I wanted was anyone getting hurt.

  “Get. Your. Fucking. Hands. Off. Her,” Blaine threatened.

  The guy behind me stiffened, his hard chest pressing into my back. “Or else what?”

  “You really want to do this here, frat boy? I’m feeling pretty murderous right now, and I’d be more than happy to take my anger out on you.”

  “Blaine, stop it. Let’s just go.”

  I tried to move toward Blaine, but the hands holding me tightened, keeping me in place.

  “Forget it, baby. You don’t have to go anywhere with this guy. He’ll be leaving now anyway.”

  “I told you to get your fucking hands off her,” Blaine growled between his teeth. “So help me, I’ll break your fucking face.”

  “These hands?” the guy holding me asked.

  He moved his fingers, brushing the sides of my breasts, and I stiffened.

  Pulling against his hands, I grunted in frustration. And then everything moved quickly. Even if I hadn’t been drunk, I still don’t think I could’ve focused on the movement around me.

  Blaine roared, coming toward the frat guy behind me, and I was tossed to the side. I landed against the bar, the edge cutting into my stomach. The sounds of bone against bone moved through the room, making my stomach turn.

  When I turned around, Blaine was on top of the guy, his fist connecting with his face over and over again.

  “Blaine!” I screamed, lunging for his arm and stopping him from hitting the guy again. “Stop!”

  Blaine was breathing hard, his nostrils flared with his breath.

  There was blood everywhere. It covered Blaine’s fist and was dripping from the guy’s face and down his clothes. The smell was too familiar and the brassy scent made the alcohol in my stomach lunge for an escape.

  “You should’ve fucking listened,” Blaine snarled and spit. It landed on the guy’s jacket and it was tinted with blood.

  Blaine wiped his mouth, and it was the first time I realized he’d been hit at least once. His lip was split, and blood was filling the corner of his mouth.

  “I’m going to be sick,” I groaned, stumbling forward.

  Blaine’s arms went around me as he steered me toward the exit and out the door. Throwing his arms off, I ran to the side of the yard just in time to lose everything in the bushes.

  As I threw up, I heard the music from the party continue in a drowned out buzz. It didn’t surprise me in the least that the party was going to continue.

  “Are you okay?” Blaine asked from behind me.

  I didn’t answer him right away. Wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket, I pulled it off and rolled it up, holding it close to my stomach. I felt more empty there than ever before.

  “Chelsey.” Blaine touched my arm and I flinched away. “Damn it, Chelsey. What the fuck is going on?”

  “I need to go home,” I said, walking away from him.

  “You’re not driving in your condition,” he snapped, following behind me.

  “I know that!” I yelled. “I wasn’t saying I was going to drive myself. They have safe drivers that’ll take me.”

  “Fuck that, I’m taking you,” he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward his car.

  I yanked as hard as I could, and he had no choice but to let go. “Don’t touch me!”

  He turned on me, his face tight with anger and frustration.

  “Why?” he yelled, throwing his arms up in the air. “What the hell is going on, Chelsey? What happened? What did I fucking miss? Why are you shutting me out? Why won’t you tell me why you’re so angry at me? I need to fix this, Chelsey. I need you!”

  I was shaking my head, my arms still wrapped around my middle. He reached out to touch my arm, but I pulled away.

  “I can’t. I just can’t,” I repeated.

  “You can,” he insisted. He moved closer, holding my face in his warm hands and forcing me to look at him. “Tell me what I did, Chelsey. Tell me.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. All the torture and suffering I was facing inside exploded and the pain and hurt I’d pushed away and ignored, surfaced, breaking me from within. I snapped.

  “You killed our baby!”

  I knew when I said the words it was wrong to accuse him, but I was drunk and hurting. I’d spent the last year of my life blaming Blaine for the loss. The doctor told me stress could cause a miscarriage and Blaine was the reason I was so stressed.

  He stared down at me with wide, icy eyes, paralyzed with shock. I used his shock to push him away from me. I couldn’t handle him touching me, not when everything hurt.

  He stumbled back, but his eyes never left mine.

  “What?” he choked. His voice was broken and rough. “What are you talking about, Chelsey? What baby?”

  “Our baby. The baby we created,” I said softly. I gripped my shirt over my belly, my fingers digging into the fabric until I felt it beginning to tear. “The baby you abandoned because of your stupid pride,” I spat.

  Tears rushed down my face, and I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t want to stop them. I needed to feel everything I’d pretended not to feel. I needed to grieve.

  “You were pregnant?” His eyes were pleading, filling with moisture as my news settled over him.

  “Yes. I was pregnant, Blaine. I was pregnant and you left me alone. You left because you were too fucking stubborn to talk to me.”

  “Tell me,” he demanded, his voice broke with emotion. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I told you enough.”

  The hurtful words I’d said to him came rushing back to me.

  “No.” He took a step toward me. “Tell me.”

  I nodded, understanding he wanted the full story. It was going to hurt, but he deserved to know. After all, it was his baby, too.

  “I found out I was pregnant two months after you left. I was depressed. You were gone. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I couldn’t function. I just sat in my room by my window and waited for you to come back.” I looked up and my eyes found his. “But you never came, Blaine.” I swiped at a tear that tickled my chin. “I couldn’t stop throwing up, and I was losing weight. My parents were starting to worry. I went to the doctor, and she told me I was twelve weeks along but I hid it from my parents. The doctor said the baby was growing like it should, but I was undernourished and sleep deprived. She said if I didn’t take better care of myself I could lose th
e baby.”

  I was looking at Blaine, but I wasn’t seeing him. All I could see was the nightmare that had become my life during those months after he’d left.

  “I tried, Blaine,” I continued. “I really tried to snap out of it for our baby. I forced myself to eat, but I’d only throw it up later. I tried to sleep, but all I could see was your face in my dreams. I was so weak, and I hated you, but mostly I hated myself for not being strong enough to take care of my baby. My screams are what woke my parents up the night it happened. They found me in the bathroom lying in a puddle of blood. Everything hurt so much, the pain was unbearable. I just kept screaming your name over and over again.”

  Blaine’s arm came around me, and I let him hold me as my body shook with tears.

  “My parents rushed me to the emergency room where they told me I’d miscarried. I was in the hospital for weeks afterward to be treated for depression, anxiety, and panic attacks. You name the psychological issue, and I had it. I was a mess. They put me on medication and sent me home with my parents. Their solution to getting me better was to sweep everything under the rug and focus on what was most important to them—school, Columbia, and their reputation—that was all that mattered.”

  I stopped to take a breath, and Blaine used his thumb to wipe away my tears.

  “I took the meds and numbed the pain, but when I started Columbia I stopped taking them. I had a ton to focus on and I thought I was better. When I saw you at the club, I ignored all the memories you stirred, hiding them away like I was used to, but the more time we started spending together, the harder it became to ignore. I snapped the other night at your going away party, and I can’t seem to hold myself together anymore.”

  “The baby,” he said, understanding. “When I was holding Bobby’s little baby.”

  “Yes.”

  Neither of us said anything more, and I wasn’t really sure what was left to say. There were no words to change or erase the past or undo what was done.

  His body was stiff. Something changed inside of Blaine, and I was afraid that maybe I’d broken him.

  “Let me take you home, Chelsey. Please don’t fight me anymore.”

  My alcohol induced state had worn off, and with everything I’d just told Blaine, I was emotionally and physically drained. I couldn’t fight him if I tried.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “Take me home, Blaine.”

  19

  BLAINE

  THE RIDE BACK TO CHELSEY’S PLACE WAS A BLUR.

  My brain was scattered, my heart bleeding, and I couldn’t focus. I really had no business on the road. I couldn’t even remember paying attention to the road once we pulled up to her apartment building. Unclenching my fingers from the steering wheel, I looked over at Chelsey.

  She was curled up on the seat, her body using the door as support, and I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or awake. She looked so small and fragile, but I knew on the inside she was stronger than she was giving herself credit for.

  Everything was different—she was different—the way I saw her was altered. She wasn’t just the girl I’d fallen in love with anymore. She was the girl I’d broken. The girl I’d been too fucking stupid to protect. She’d carried a piece of me inside her, and I’d failed to take care of her.

  My eyes lingered on her, before moving over her stomach. An ache, much worse than anything I’d felt in my life, moved into my chest. I couldn’t breathe. It was like losing my parents and Chelsey all over again.

  I put my hand on her arm, and she jumped, grabbing the door handle. I didn’t move, afraid I’d freak her out more. When she turned toward me, her eyes found mine in the dark. She focused, and I knew she was pushing away sleep. She needed to rest. She needed to sleep off the night and start tomorrow with a clear head.

  “Give me your keys and stay here,” I ordered, holding out my hand. It took her a minute, but finally she pulled her keys from her pocket and dropped them in my palm. “Don’t move.”

  I got out of the car, and went and unlocked her apartment door. When I came back to the car, I was happy to see she’d listened and was sitting there waiting for me. Going around to her side, I opened her car door. Bending over, I scooped her into my arms and lifted her from the car. I held her tightly against me, afraid I was going to lose her at any moment.

  Once inside her apartment, I kicked the door closed and took Chelsey straight to her bedroom.

  I stopped beside her bed and looked her in the eye. “Can you stand if I put you down?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I could’ve walked inside.”

  I ignored her, setting her down gently. I looked down at her, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder. She was half my size, so small, so delicate. Again, I closed my eyes against the pain of knowing I’d left her when she needed me.

  My fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt and lifted, the backs of my fingers moving along her soft skin. I expected her to fight me, but she didn’t. She lifted her arms, and I pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it to the side.

  The button of her jeans came undone easily under the pressure of my fingers, and I knelt as I pulled them down her legs.

  “Hold on to me,” I said, prompting her to press her hands into my shoulders.

  She tugged one leg from her jeans, and then the other, freeing herself and standing before me in only her panties and bra.

  I stood, tossing her jeans to the side, too. I felt something hit my foot, and when I looked down, there was a piece of folded paper lying there. Frowning, I bent and picked it up. Chelsey didn’t react as I started to open it. Her eyes were empty, her expression stiff with sadness.

  Unfolding the paper, my eyes moved over the picture and my world crumbled. I stared down at the proof of what Chelsey and I created with our love—what I’d destroyed with my pride. I swiped over the tiny print with my thumb as the reality of the situation threatened to suffocate me.

  I wanted to grieve over the loss—cry to the heavens—beg for forgiveness, but Chelsey needed me. Even though I was broken in two, I longed to comfort her the way I should’ve months ago. The way I should’ve the night she bled on her bathroom floor and cried for me.

  Cupping her cheeks, I lifted her face to mine. Her chin trembled and a fresh wave of tears wet her cheeks. Using my thumbs, I wiped them away and she closed her eyes to my touch. I leaned down, pressing a kiss to each eyelid, before placing soft kisses all over her face. Her hands gripped the sides of my shirt and she leaned into me.

  “It hurts, Blaine. It hurts so much.” Her voice broke, ripping through my soul.

  “Let me take the hurt away. Let me make you feel better the way I should’ve when you needed me. Please?”

  She nodded without opening her eyes.

  “Look at me, baby. I need to see those big, brown eyes on me.”

  She took deep breath and her chest pressed into mine. When she exhaled, she opened her eyes and looked into mine. She was so fucking beautiful. I had to fight to breathe.

  Pressing my lips against hers, I kissed her softly. I didn’t deepen the kiss, I just wanted to feel the softness of her lips, to taste the sweetness that was Chelsey.

  Pushing her back against the bed, I laid her down gently. With one knee between her thighs, I hovered above her. Even after everything that happened, trust reflected in her eyes—trust I wasn’t sure I deserved—trust I’d do anything to keep.

  Leaning over, I brushed my lips across her stomach, silently wishing I could take her pain into myself. Her body quivered, and her fists gripped the blanket, bunching it in her fingers.

  “I’m so sorry for all the pain I cause you, Chelsey. I’m sorry I hurt you,” I whispered the words against her belly. “I’m so sorry, little one.”

  And even though I tried to hold them back for Chelsey’s sake, warm tears moved down my cheeks as I apologized to the baby we’d never know.

  “Blaine,” she whispered, losing her fingers in my hair. “Please.”

  I placed a kiss beside her
navel and moved to lay on top of her. Bracing my arms on either side of her head, I looked down into her face. Fresh tears fell down the sides of her face, soaking into her hair. She reached up, and wiped my tears away.

  “I love you, Chelsey,” I confessed, catching her tears with my lips. “I love you so much. Please don’t hate me.”

  I hated myself enough for the both of us.

  “I love you, too,” she breathed.

  Pushing myself up, I pulled her panties down, letting my fingertips graze her legs. Chills moved across her skin, prompting me to kiss the inside of her knee. Standing, I tugged my jeans down my hips and let them pool on the floor at my feet.

  I moved between her legs again. I held her legs open, my palms digging into her inner thighs, as I pressed my lips against her heated moisture. She moaned, and her hips lifted from the bed as she pressed herself firmly against my mouth. I moved her hands around and gripped her ass as I teased and sucked her swollen knot with my tongue. She cried out, grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling.

  “Blaine, please.” Her voice was deep and raw from her crying.

  She tugged my hair again, and I followed, settling between her thighs and holding her body close to mine.

  “I need to feel you inside me,” she breathed. “I’ve been so empty since you’ve left. Please,” she begged.

  Hearing her whispered pleas was my undoing. I positioned myself against her, slowly filling her with my hard length. Her body stretched, tugging at me tightly, and sending desire through my body. I moved inside of her, wanting to savor the pleasure and the pain of being with her, wanting to mark her with my body. Making love to Chelsey felt bittersweet. And something deep in my chest told me no matter what I said or did, she’d never be the girl she used to be.

  **********

  CHELSEY HAD NOTHING EDIBLE IN HER KITCHEN.

  Closing the refrigerator door, I stood with my hands on my hips and let my eyes move around her apartment. It was such a comfy place, but she needed food in the place. Chelsey had a bad habit of getting so involved in her assignments that she’d forget to eat. That needed to stop.