by Nina Levine
It’s fucking exquisite.
His hands rest on the bed next to me and he stares down into my eyes as he pushes in and out, slowly and deliberately, going deeper each time. My legs are wrapped around him and I hold tight, moving with him and helping him work us toward our release.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans as his face contorts with pleasure.
His thrusts are getting a little faster and harder, and when he drops his head and begins to thrust with more determination, I know it won’t be long. I squeeze my legs tighter around him as he loses himself completely in it. He’s moving and thrusting and grunting, and all I can do is hold on for the ride.
My body thrums with pleasure and I cry out when I come. I’m falling and tumbling and I surrender totally to it.
I know nothing.
I feel no one.
I only exist in this amazing bubble of ecstasy.
And then Jett roars, “Fuck!” He thrusts hard one last time and his body tenses as he orgasms.
His roar pierces through my bubble and I’m alert again. And I’m exhausted. The pleasure has ripped through my body, using up every last drop of energy I had in me. I let go of him and he pulls out and collapses onto the bed beside me.
My eyes flutter shut and I begin to drift off into sleep. I try to fight it, but I can’t.
The last thing I hear is, “I love you.”
I love you, too.
26
Presley
As I roll over in the bed, I stretch and reach for Jett, but the bed is empty. I crack my eyes open and look around the room. He’s not here. I check the bedside clock and see it’s nearly nine in the morning. Shit, I’ve slept late. I push the covers off and go in search of him.
A couple of minutes later, I’ve looked everywhere and my heart sinks when I realise he’s already left.
No note.
No goodbye.
And I’ve got no idea where he is or what he’s doing today.
It’s the first time since we met that I don’t know this information.
I want to know these things.
Hell, I want to know everything to do with Jett.
I want him in my life.
I want him.
The realisation I don’t want to fight him anymore about dating hit me a little while ago, but this new understanding of what he means to me and how much I want to be around him, hits me now.
I rush into my bedroom to grab my phone, and dial him straight away. He doesn’t answer so I try again. And again. After three attempts with no answer, I give up and send him a text asking him to let me know he’s okay. He certainly wasn’t okay when he arrived here last night.
Dropping the phone onto my bed, I trudge into the bathroom for a shower. I’m tired after last night. Jett wore me out with sex and then he tossed and turned all night, keeping me awake pretty much the whole time. Thank God I have no plans for today; long naps sound good at this point.
As I step into the shower, my phone rings and I immediately bolt back into my bedroom to answer it.
It’s Jett. “Hi,” I say.
He takes his time but finally says, “Hi.”
His tone makes me nervous. It’s as if he doesn’t want to be on the phone with me. “Where are you? I missed you this morning.”
The only sound is that of his long sigh, and then – “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs so softly I almost can’t hear him. “I needed some time…”
Frowning, I ask, “Time for what?”
Quiet again and when he does speak, the brokenness I hear in his voice pulls at my heart. “Time with Claudia.”
I have no idea what he means and while I want to know, I don’t want to push him too hard. “Okay.” I stop talking but then add, “Jett, I’m here if you need me, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, gruffly. “I’ll catch you later.”
And then he’s gone and I’m left staring at my phone.
Fuck you, cancer.
* * *
I end up cleaning my house; it’s what I do when I’m full of nervous energy like I am at the moment. That takes me all of two hours and then I rearrange my pantry. And then I head downstairs to wash my car.
I’m finishing up with my car when Michael calls me.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“What? No love for me this morning?” he teases.
I play along because this is sadly the highlight of my day so far. “I’m sorry, dear manager, how are you today?”
“Pfft, fancy answering the phone with ‘what’s up’. Who does that shit?” He’s poking fun at me now because I’m always giving him grief for answering the phone that way, and now I’ve just done the same thing.
“Point taken.”
He chuckles. “Am I detecting a mood today?” Always so perceptive.
“Jett’s sister passed away two days ago and - ”
He cuts me off. “Shit, Presley. What happened?”
“She died of cardiac arrest but she also had just been diagnosed with cancer for the second time in her life.”
“God, I’m so sorry. How is Jett?”
“Not good. He was close to her.”
“Are you with him now? Just tell me to hang up if you are. We can discuss this stuff later.” Michael can be a smartass but he’s also very sensitive and it’s one of my favourite things about him.
I lean against my car and cross my legs in front of me. “No, he was gone before I woke up this morning,” I say quietly.
“Why do you sound upset, babe?” Again, always sensitive to what others are going through.
“Because it feels like he’s shutting me out.” I rush to clarify myself. “And I know he’s grieving and dealing with that in his own way, but I just want him to talk to me and let me help him. I’m so worried about him.”
He’s thoughtful for a moment. “You know, not everyone needs to talk shit out, much as you might disagree with that. Sure, at some point he will possibly want to discuss it, but there are some of us who deal with our thoughts and feelings by going inward rather than outward. Perhaps the best way for you to help him is actually to leave him be and wait for him to come to you.” He pauses for a moment and then asks, “Do you think it’s possible that your desire for him to talk to you is more about your need to talk with him about it? That maybe while you think you’re being there for him, you’re actually trying to fill one of your own needs to help and fix?”
I consider what he’s said. “Shit, I hate it when you go all therapist on me.”
“Just think about it. And just continue to be there for him.”
“I will, but I’m not sure you’re right this time. Everyone who is struggling with grief needs people around them.”
“I’m not saying he doesn’t need you. I’m just saying give him the time and space to come to you in his own time.”
“Fine.” He’s made me a little grumpy. My desire to be here for Jett has nothing to do with me. In fact, I don’t even really understand what he’s trying to say so I change the subject instead of continuing this conversation. “What were you calling for?”
“You’ve had a few job offers come through that I wanted to discuss with you.”
“For what?”
“Magazine shoots. Still fashion, unfortunately.” He sounds as down about it as I feel.
“Ugh, no, I don’t want to do them.”
“Yeah, I figured, but thought I’d ask just in case you’d changed your mind.”
“You know what? I told myself I would take a few months off and I really need that so don’t even tell me about jobs that come in for the next couple of months.” I should have told him this to begin with.
“You sure?” He sounds surprised. “What if something huge comes in?”
I think about it for a minute. “Nope, not even then. I’m going to take this time for me. I’m going to work out what I truly want, because at the moment I’m so confused about it all.” The only thing I’m not confused about is Jett.
“Okay, bab
e, your call. I won’t bug you about jobs but I will bug you about your life. I’m a little worried about that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve always been a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and where she was heading. And you’re not that woman anymore.”
I smile. He’s right. But he’s wrong about one thing. “You are so right about me not being that woman anymore. I’m a different woman now and that’s not a bad thing. Everything changed when my marriage broke up and while that sucked, it opened up this whole new life for me. And it’s a better life.”
For the first time in my life, I feel free.
Free to explore me.
Free to explore love with a man worthy of me.
Free to design a life I want to live in every day rather than one I want to vacation from.
27
Jett
I miss Claudia.
I can’t even imagine life without her in it.
Fuck.
I stretch and rub the back of my neck as if doing that will get rid of the cricks and the headache I have. Of course, it doesn’t, and it won’t.
Turning, I stride across the car park and make my way up to Presley’s apartment. I collected my car from the pub this morning and spent most of the day by myself. She’s going to grill me on that, and I’m in no mood to discuss it, so I’m apprehensive about going up. But fuck, I need to see her. She has no idea what her presence through all of this means to me.
She buzzes me in the front door, and a couple of minutes later I step off the elevator on her floor and slowly walk the last few steps to her door.
“Hey,” she greets me softly, a hesitant smile on her face.
I trace my thumb over her lips and murmur, “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” I don’t like the hesitation in her smile.
Nodding, she motions for me to come in. “Yeah, I’m good.”
We end up in her living room and I collapse onto her couch. She stands in front of me, looking down, her eyes searching mine. I know what she’s looking for, so I give it to her. “I’m alright. I spent the day at Claudia’s house going through some things and then I spent some time with Mum and Dad. You don’t need to worry about me.” I grab her hand and pull her into my lap. Nuzzling her neck, I press my lips to her skin and close my eyes, savouring the delicious scent she’s wearing. Smells like flowers or some shit, but whatever it is, I fucking love it.
She places her hands on my chest and pushes some distance between us. “Jett, I do worry about you.” Her frown lines her face and concern is etched all over it.
I nod. “I know, baby,” I say softly, trying to pull her back to me.
Although I’m trying to get her close again, she’s still holding me back. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“You’re already doing it.”
“What about tomorrow? It’s the funeral - ”
My patience is walking a tightrope and I’m struggling to keep it in check. “There’s nothing I need,” I snap at her and instantly wish I could take the words back and say them in a nicer way when I see the hurt flash in her eyes. “Sorry, but you’re in my face wanting to talk about this all the time and there’s nothing to say. Claudia’s dead and nothing I say can bring her back. Can we just get tomorrow over with and then move forward from there?”
I just need to get through tomorrow.
The hurt shifts from her eyes and is replaced by sympathy. I fucking hate sympathy. “Okay.” She nods. “Let’s get tomorrow over with.”
“Thank you.” I lean forward and lightly kiss her.
She moves off my lap and says, “I’m going to cook some spaghetti. You good with that?”
“Yeah, sounds good. I’ve just gotta return some calls and then I’ll come help you.”
Waving her hands at me, she shakes her head. “No, you relax. I’ve got this.” She leaves me then and I feel like the biggest asshole on Earth. All she wants to do is look out for me and care for me, and all I want to do is crawl into a dark corner and be alone.
I want to forget Claudia is dead.
I want shit to go back to what it was a week ago when my biggest problem was the band.
Fuck, sometimes the problems you used to wish didn’t exist are the ones you would kill to have again.
Standing, I pull my phone out and return Tom’s call. He and the boys have been bombarding me with calls and texts. I feel like we’re in some goddamn female club together where we have to check in with each other every day.
“Hi Jett,” he answers, and I hear sympathy there.
Fucking sympathy can kiss my fucking ass.
Every time I hear it, I’m reminded of what I’ve lost.
“Tom, why the hell have you left three messages for me today? You know I always get back to you eventually. I don’t need three fucking messages to remind me.” I’m a cranky bastard tonight but I’m helpless to stop it.
“I’m worried about you. We’re all worried about you.”
Fuck!
I want to punch something but I refrain; punching a hole in Presley’s wall would not go down well with her.
I rub my neck again and grind my teeth. “I don’t want people to worry about me, Tom! Fuck, I’m not the one who died.”
“No, but you’re the one left to cope with that death, Jett, and all I see is you shutting out everyone who cares about you. That’s not the way to cope.”
“I don’t need to fucking talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it!”
He’s silent for a moment. “How about we agree that I’ll call you once a day and you have to answer, but I won’t ask you how you are. We’ll just talk about other shit.”
And there’s that goddamn female group therapy club again. But I know he won’t give in on this so I agree. “Fine. You call, I’ll answer, and we’ll discuss the weather or some shit.”
“Anyone ever told you what a difficult asshole you can be sometimes?”
Usually, that would cause me to laugh, but today there’s no laughter in me. “Only every chance they get. And now I’ve gotta go because I’ve got three more fucking calls to make to the rest of our group therapy members.”
I hang up and then get my calls to Hunter, Van and West out of the way before dinner. And then I head into the kitchen to find Presley. And to see what alcohol she has in there. A drink is exactly what I need to take my mind off everything.
28
Presley
Sweat sticks to my skin, which in turn, sticks to my dress. God, I hate the heat of Queensland some days. We sat in the stifling heat of the church this morning for Claudia’s funeral and then we stood in the heat again at the cemetery, and now we’ve got about fifty people crammed into Jett’s parents’ house. And the house isn’t air-conditioned.
I find a corner of the living room that doesn’t have too many people in it and take a moment to collect myself. As I smooth my hair back, a hand lands on my shoulder and a familiar voice says into my ear – “How’s Jett doing?”
Turning, I look up into Van’s dark eyes. I’m fascinated with his eyes. They’re already dark brown but there’s something that lingers there that reveals his darker side. I’ve never asked Jett about it but looking at him now, I wonder what he’s gone through in life that’s touched his soul in that way.
“He’s not doing well,” I admit.
He nods in quiet agreement before looking around the room. I follow his gaze and see Jett enter the room with a drink in hand. Shit, not again.
Van turns back to me. “How much is he drinking?”
“Well, he turned up drunk the night you guys were out and then he wrote himself off last night over dinner, and now it looks like he’s well on his way to doing it again.” I pause for a moment. “Is this standard behaviour for him when he’s down?”
“Not really, no. But he did drink heavily for a while once when he had a crazy fan stalk him. She caused the band and him so much grief that he ended up locking himself away from the public for months and drinki
ng to forget it.”
“So you’re concerned he’s going to do that again?” I’m concerned right along with him.
“Yeah, we need to keep an eye on it. I don’t want to see him go down that path again.”
I contemplate him. He’s a mystery to me; assholey one minute, caring the next. And I’m not quite sure what to make of him. I take a stab at it, though. “You care a lot about Jett, don’t you? Even though you argue with him all the time.”
His intense gaze doesn’t let up. If anything, it deepens. “Jett’s the one person I care the most about in this world. My family has fucked me over, my friends use me for what they can get out of me, and my fiancé tried to rob me blind after she fucked me over… through all of that, the one person who always had my back was Jett. I forgot that for a while recently, but I remember now, and I won’t ever forget again. And yeah, I argue with the asshole a lot, but that’s because I’m a bigger asshole than he’ll ever be.”
I’m surprised by his words and at the same time, my respect for him grows. It takes a lot for a man to admit that kind of stuff. Smiling at him, I say, “You’re okay, Van. I wasn’t sure about you, but I am now. And you’re right about being a bigger asshole than Jett, but I suspect deep down there’s not an ounce of asshole in you. I think it’s all for show; to hide whatever it is you’re trying to hide. And I’m looking forward to the day you let us see the real you.”
His eyes widen slightly but only for a second. “Don’t hold your breath too long, babe, or you might be disappointed. What you see is what you get with me.”
I’m about to reply to that when arms come around me from behind and warm breath tickles my neck. “What are you two doing over here hiding in the corner? Should I be worried?” Jett’s words are already slurring together and it’s only four in the afternoon.
I hold my breath and wait for Van to lose his shit over that because the way his face is clouding over, it looks like he’s about to do it. However, he surprises me again. “Yeah, you should be worried, man. We’re comparing notes on your drinking, and I just want to remind you of what happened the other time you turned to alcohol to deal with shit. It didn’t end pretty, remember?”