by R. C. Martin
“Judah, you are not destined to be alone. Your heart is far too generous and loving. If things between you and Teddy can be salvaged, I believe it is in your best interest to salvage them. You might not realize it, but you wear your heart on your sleeve—or perhaps on your face,” she quips with a wink. “In any case, I know that you miss her; that you long for her. That, my nephew, is simply a testament to the mark she has made on you—the mark you will carry with you forever.”
I shake my head, feeling weaker in this moment than I’ve ever felt in my life. My fight seems to have been drained from me, and what little I have left is not enough to combat the ache that fills my chest.
“I don’t—I don’t believe in forever. Love is for fools.”
“You’re right,” she says with a nod. “But you’re looking at it backwards. The truth is, if we’re lucky, we’ll find a love that makes us foolish. As for your disbelief in forever—don’t let forever prove you wrong. That’s a long time to harbor the pain of loss.” She stands, rests a hand on my shoulder and presses a light kiss to my forehead. “I shouldn’t have to remind you of a rule you usually live by, but I will. You don’t fight the ones you love—you fight for them. If she’s who your heart longs for, and I know she is, then be the passionate, stubborn man I know you to be and get her back.”
She walks away without another word, leaving me speechless. Just after she opens the door to make her exit, she turns to address me one more time.
“You will apologize to Logan, Judah. I expect her next tears to be ones of joy. And believe me, with her hormones all awry, there will be tears. You’ve been warned.”
When a knock sounds at my front door, I check the time, turning down my television as I go to answer. It’s after six and I’m not expecting anyone, but with five days until Christmas, I know that the delivery men are out later than usual. I still haven’t received Teddy’s gift, which I found online sort of last minute, and to receive it now would be a huge relief.
I don’t check the peephole before I open the door, but as soon as I see who is standing on the other side, I wish I had. Standing there, looking sexy as fuck, is the man who has robbed my best friend of her joy. She’s smiling more these days, but the light in her eyes has yet to return—and he’s to blame.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak with you. It’s about Teddy.”
“This ought to be rich,” I mutter, folding my arms across my chest.
“I’d rather not have this conversation in the middle of the hallway. Are you not going to invite me in?”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering where he gets the nerve. “Considering the fact that for the last month I’ve been watching one of the best people in the world that I know pick up the pieces of her shattered heart—her shattered heart that you demolished—I’m sure you’ll understand that I don’t give a fuck what you want. You have something to say, I’m listening. And you better believe you have all of ten seconds to convince me I shouldn’t shut this door on your sorry ass.”
He clenches his jaw and draws in a deep breath, and I can practically smell his effort to keep himself under control. This isn’t the first time we’ve stood toe to toe, and I’m aware that his willingness to surrender to my demands means something—it means that he’s not here for completely selfish reasons. Nevertheless, I won’t ease up on the man until he gives me a reason to trust him, and he’s got a long way to go before I’ll even consider it.
“I want her back. I need your help,” he finally says.
“You want her back,” I repeat with a condescending chuckle. “That’s nice. Good luck with that.”
Truth be told, I know in my gut that if it wasn’t my door he was standing in front of, but hers, that’s all he’d have to say for her to fall into his arms again. But she deserves far more than—I want her back—and it’s not her door he knocked on, it’s mine, which has given me a unique opportunity to fight for her in ways she’s not strong enough to fight for herself right now. And it might not be much, but if refusing to help him means he has to try harder, then that is what I intend to do.
I take a step back and he’s quick to take a step forward as he states, “I’ll do what needs to be done with or without you, but it would be a lot easier if I had your help.”
“It comes as no surprise to me that you want her back. You should want her back. She’s probably the best damn thing that ever happened to you—but you threw her away as if she meant nothing to you, and I won’t let you do it again. So excuse me, but I have far better things to do with my evening than to spend it listening to you.”
Just as I begin to close the door, he smacks his glove covered hand against it, holding it open as he insists, “She belongs to me.”
“Then you shouldn’t have let her go,” I argue, shoving the door against his resistance.
I almost have the door shut when he shouts, “I belong to her, dammit!”
That makes me pause.
I open the door a little to meet his grey eyes. He meets my gaze unwaveringly.
“I belong to her,” he repeats, his tone both calm and determined. “I want her back. I have a plan, and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important—if she wasn’t important.”
Silence passes between us as I regard him one more time. Then, with a nod, I open the door completely and step aside, inviting him in.
As I sit curled up on the couch, staring at the family Christmas tree glowing in the corner, I wonder if maybe tomorrow it’ll finally feel like Christmas. It’s early afternoon on Christmas Eve, and mom is upstairs napping while dad is out with the crazy last minute shoppers. It all feels so incredibly familiar, and yet oddly foreign. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m different.
Harper and I have been at my parents’ house for the last three days, participating in all the same traditions that we do every year. We’ve baked cookies, we’ve wrapped presents, we’ve watched half a dozen Christmas movies—and yet, none of it feels as it should. None of it makes me as happy as it has in years past. Even now, as I see the snow falling lightly outside, giving us just a little more white for our Christmas, it doesn’t feel particularly special.
With a quiet sigh, I look to the couch adjacent to the one I’m occupying by myself. Ben and Harper are sitting together—him with his laptop across his legs as he works; her propped up against his shoulder as she stares happily at the movie on the television. Their breakup lasted all of seventeen hours, and then all was right in their world again. Seeing them together now, I’m glad for them. I’m glad that they have each other. I’m glad that their holiday will be everything that it should be—filled with love and family. And yet, at the same time, I cannot ignore the fact that my envy of Harper and what she has with Ben is eating away at me.
It makes me feel like a monster, and yet I can’t shake it. Or perhaps, more accurately, I don’t want to. It’s sort of a relief to have a tight hold on something other than just sadness. Granted, I’m fully aware that my envy is derived from my sadness—but that’s just semantics. My heart doesn’t care about the logic in my shift of emotions, it’s just content with the change of scenery.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts and I scowl for a second, wondering who it could be. We’re not expecting company, and dad wouldn’t come through the front door. Besides, he only left an hour ago.
“Do you want me to check and see who it is?” asks Harper.
“No,” I reply, recognizing her reluctance to get up. “It’s fine. I’ll go.”
On my way out of the room, there’s another knock—louder this time. I pick up the pace, hurrying toward the entryway, hoping to answer before whoever it is wakes up my mom. I twist the deadbolt and open the door, and then all the air in my lungs rushes out of me.
As I stare at the man in front of me, my heart races, my palms sweat, and my stomach fills with an insanely obnoxious amount of butterflies. He looks like a dream, and the thought that he might be—that I might actually be los
ing my mind right now—makes me want to cry. My eyes well up with tears, tears that are soon falling down my cheeks as I try blinking my eyes clear. The last thing I want is for my view of him to be obscured. He looks…like the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my entire life. It’s actually quite unfair, his level of attractiveness. No one should be allotted that much of an advantage. It’s practically a weapon. It might even be borderline illegal. I mean, it’s got to be.
He has a beard now, and it’s sexy as I don’t know what. My eyes linger on his lips, wondering how it would feel to kiss him now—wondering if it would tickle. Then, his mouth twitches in what might be a smile, and my eyes shoot up to meet his dark, grey irises. It isn’t until our eyes lock that I realize that he hasn’t said a word. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but when I become aware that my toes have grown cold, I begin to believe that this is not a dream after all. And yet, his silence makes me question why he’s here.
Then, his hand is gripping the back of my neck and my body is being crushed against his as he wraps his arm around my waist. Before my brain can register all that is happening, his lips are pressed firmly against mine, and in an instant—I’m putty in his hands.
He kisses me like he’s never kissed me before, like he’s desperate and anxious and scared to let me go. He forces his tongue into my mouth and I moan, the warm, wet sensation causing an all too familiar ache between my legs. My hands grip the lapels of his jacket, my fingers holding on as tightly as I can manage. His beard scratches my skin, and I can feel it as my lips begin to swell, but I never want this kiss to end—not ever. For I, too, am afraid that if it does—if he pulls away—that he’ll vanish as quickly as he appeared.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you so much,” he mutters, his lips still touching mine.
I exhale a whimper, my whole body abuzz with his declaration, but I don’t repeat the words. I can’t. He’s rendered me speechless. Instead, I circle my arms around his neck and hug him close, allowing him to smother me in kisses.
He lets go of my neck, leaning into me as he bends me back enough to reach the back of my thighs—just below my ass. He encourages me off my feet, guiding my legs around him. I lock my ankles at his back, and he holds me close. There’s an itty bitty voice somewhere in my head that’s wondering what I’m doing? Wondering what he’s doing? Wondering what this means, why he’s here, and why now? But I ignore it. I don’t care.
I don’t give a single shit.
Judah Danyl St. Michaels—my love—my forever—he’s here.
When he finally pulls away from me, his eyes devour my face as we both try to catch our breath. The smoke clouds that puff from our mouths must alert him that we’re still standing outside, on the front porch, in the freezing cold snow. He’s quick to step inside, closing the door behind him. He doesn’t put me down. Not that I would let him, but I’m overwhelmingly happy that he doesn’t even try.
Once he’s satisfied to have me inside and out of the cold, he brings his eyes back to meet my gaze. A slight frown tugs at his brow and he shakes his head before resting his forehead against mine.
“I had a speech,” he whispers, coughing out a soft laugh. “Then I saw you and I could only think of one thing that I actually wanted you to hear.”
The sound of his voice and the feel of his breath against my face has my heart still racing. As I reach up to cup my hands around his cheeks, I notice that I’m shaking. I ignore it, only wishing to hear whatever it is that he has to say.
“What?” I murmur. “Tell me.”
He moves his head and looks into my eyes before he states, “I love you.”
I burst into a sob immediately. It’s loud and completely embarrassing, but it won’t be silenced. I can feel my cheeks heat up in a blush as I bury my face under his chin. He adjusts his arms around me, squeezing me tighter as he presses a kiss against my neck.
“I love you, Theodora. I’ll tell you everyday, sweetheart. I was a fucking fool to let you walk away from me. You’re mine—you’re mine,” he mumbles against my skin.
“I love you, too. So much. So much.” I barely get the words out, and I can only hope he can get the gist until I manage to pull myself together.
“Well, this is interesting and completely unexpected.”
I hear Harper, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m pulling away from Judah, so I don’t move to look at her. I feel it as Jude turns to face her, and when his lips leave my skin before he speaks.
“I’m going to take her now,” he tells my sister. “We’ll be back in the morning.”
“Breakfast is at nine. You better not be late.” I don’t even have to look at her to see her arched eyebrow and her threatening stare. Something tells me that she won’t let Judah back into her good graces just yet. I get that. I love her for that. But I love him far too much to make him pay the way I’m sure she will.
And he loves me.
He loves me!
“Nine o’clock. We’ll be here.”
“Well, well, well—look who’s here,” says Ben.
His cocky welcome makes me curious, and I lift my face to look at Judah’s. He pays his brother no mind, shifting his attention to me. I’m probably a mess of snot and tears, but his gaze makes me feel beautiful.
“Grab what you need, sweetheart. I’m taking you home. Tonight, you’re all mine.”
“I’m all yours forever,” I whisper, touching my nose to his.
He kisses my lips in response before I manage to let him go. I race upstairs, wiping my face as I go, and grab my coat and my purse as I slip my feet into my boots. I’m back at Judah’s side in less than a minute, my fingers wrapped around his, feeling as giddy as a little girl on Christmas morning.
“Tell mom and dad where I am?” I ask Harper.
“Of course,” she says with a smile and a wink. “See you tomorrow.”
“Ready?” asks Jude, giving my fingers a squeeze.
Just the thought of going to his home and being alone with him makes my insides stir with a fierce desire I thought would never be quenched again. Knowing now that I’ll be reunited with the man who has always brought me more pleasure than I ever imagined possible, I can hardly wait to get out of here.
“Please,” I breathe.
He drops my hand and grips the back of my neck, leaning down to press a kiss against my temple as he says, “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
When she opened that door, my heart about leapt from my chest. I had come to terms with the fact that I longed for her, that I missed her terribly and I needed her back in my life—but I didn’t realize how deep in denial I’ve been all this time until I saw my shy girl in front of me. If I hadn’t already admitted to myself that I’m without a doubt in love with the woman, seeing her there—dressed in a red, oversized, plaid button-down and a pair of black leggings, her hair piled on top of her head in a mess of gorgeous, vibrant locks—I would have admitted it all over again.
I wasn’t sure how I’d be received. After my encounter with Geoffrey a few days ago, I was well aware that our time apart had been hard on her. I prepared myself for the worst. When she started crying, speechless at the sight of me, I knew there was only one thing she needed to hear me say—what she had begged me to say four weeks ago.
Now, as I drive us toward home, her fingers laced with mine in my lap, I can’t stop myself from glancing over at her every other minute. Each time I do, she smiles shyly at me and my dick stirs excitedly. I can hardly wait to bury myself inside of her, to claim her as mine once again. She belongs to me. She always has; and now, she always will.
I let her walk away from me, thinking that she had made the wrong choice, when all along, it was me that was wrong. She chose me. She chose love. She chose forever. And I chose to let her go, stubborn in my belief that she would change her mind, as mankind is so oft to do. Yet, what I’ve come to learn is this—I’m incapable of changing my mind about Theodora. If she feels even a fraction for me what I feel for her, her choice—her love is to be
trusted.
We don’t speak much during our car ride back to Fort Collins, as if seeing each other and being in each other’s presence is enough for now. Not to mention, the past month isn’t exactly a pleasant conversation topic. It seems ridiculous to ask how each other has been, both of us knowing the answer isn’t favorable. I’m not naïve. I’m sure the topic will be broached, just not while we’re too busy enjoying now.
“Where are we going? I thought you were taking me to your place.”
“I am,” I assure her, bringing her hand up to kiss the back of her palm. “But one of your Christmas gifts was delivered to your apartment. We’re stopping there first.”
“You—you bought me gifts? Judah, I didn’t—”
“I have much to apologize for,” I mutter honestly. “My gifts to you are the least I can do, and I don’t want to hear another thing about it.”
She extends my arm as she brings my hand to her lips before kissing the back of my palm. A smirk tugs at my lips and she giggles softly. I love the sound. I’ve missed that sound.
When we arrive at her apartment complex, I park in a vacant spot just in front of her building, and we waste no time heading to her door. I pretend as though I don’t have her spare key, and wait patiently for her to dig for hers. After she finds it and we gain entry into her unit, she sets one foot inside before she gasps. She then takes two steps back, colliding into me, and I slide my hands around her waist, easing her inside.
“Judah?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Where are all of my things?”
Her apartment is completely empty, save the dozens of vases filled with hundreds of red roses that occupy just about every square inch of the main room. When I told Geoffrey that I needed access to her apartment in order to deliver a rather large gift, what I neglected to mention was that I’d also be taking all of her possessions out. It took the movers just a few hours to pack all of her things, delivering a handful of boxes to my house, and the rest to a storage unit I rented nearby.