Until You

by Penelope Douglas

  “I wasn’t protecting you,” I stated, raising my eyes to meet hers. “I was jealous.”

  If I was protecting her, then I wouldn’t have turned around and hurt her myself with that rumor. It wasn’t about keeping her safe. It was about not wanting anyone else to touch her.

  I continued, “We got to high school, and all of a sudden, you’ve got all of these guys liking you. I handled it the only way I knew how.”

  “By bullying me?” she challenged. “That makes no sense. Why didn’t you talk to me?”

  “I couldn’t. I can’t.” I couldn’t trust you.

  “You’re doing fine so far,” she pressed. “I want to know why all of this started in the first place. Why did you want to hurt me? The pranks, the black-listing from parties? That wasn’t about other guys. What was your problem with me?”

  I inhaled deeply, trying to buy myself some time. I couldn’t go there. Not now. Not with her.

  I blew out a breath and lied. “Because you were there. Because I couldn’t hurt who I wanted to hurt, so I hurt you.”

  Please just leave it at that.

  “I was your best friend.” She spoke slowly, making me feel her disgust. “All these years…” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

  “Tate, I had a shitty summer with my dad that year.” I inched closer. “When I came back, I wasn’t the same kid. Not even close. I wanted to hate everybody. But with you, I still needed you in a way. I needed you to not forget me.”

  Part of it was about control, and part of it was about my anger, but most of it was about not being able to let her go. I needed to be in her life. I needed her to see me.

  “Jared, I’ve turned it over and over in my head wondering what I could’ve done to make you act the way you did. And now you tell me that it was all for no reason?”

  I continued moving in.

  “You were never clingy or a nuisance, Tate. The day you moved in next door I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” My voice dropped to a near-whisper and my eyes to the ground. “I fucking loved you. Your dad was unloading the moving truck, and I looked out my living room window to see what the noise was. There you were, riding your bike in the street. You were wearing overalls with a red baseball cap. Your hair was spilling down your back.”

  Even then, I knew Tate would be important to me.

  Shortly after she’d moved in, I’d found out that her mom had passed away. My father wasn’t in my life, and Tate and I connected instantly. We had things like music and movies in common.

  And the rest was out of our control. We’d found each other.

  “When you recited your monologue this week, I …..” I let out a breath. “I knew then that I’d really gotten to you, and instead of feeling any satisfaction, I was angry with myself. I wanted to hate you all these years, I wanted to hate someone. But I didn’t want to hurt you, and I didn’t really realize that until the monologue.”

  Stepping in front of her, I felt the hairs on my arms stand on end. The heat from her body—so close—radiated toward me, and it took everything I had not to circle my arms around her waist and bring her up into my arms. The memory of how she felt the other night only made me think of all the things I wanted.

  “You’re not telling me everything.” She looked like her head was spinning, like she was half in and half out of the moment.

  I reached up and cupped her face with one hand, wiping away a single warm tear.

  “No, I’m not.” My voice was barely audible.

  Her eyes were hooded, but she tried to keep going. “The scars on your back,” she started. “You said you had a bad summer, and that when you came back you wanted to hate everybody, but you haven’t treated anyone else as badly as—”

  “Tate?” I cut her off and closed the inch left between us, our breathing in sync as we met chest to chest. All I could see were her lips, full and soft. “I don’t want to talk any more tonight.”

  She stood there, watching me close in, and the moment was a hair from coming together or coming apart.

  She wanted my lips on hers, but she might not like that she wanted it.

  Please don’t stop me.

  Her skin was like touching cool silk, smooth like butter, and I fisted my hand in her hair.

  And then she jerked, as if waking up.

  “You don’t want to talk anymore?” Her strong voice broke the spell, and my legs tensed, waiting for her to hit me again.

  “Well, I do,” she yelled, and I sprang into action when I saw her twist around to launch another key into the forest.

  Hell!

  Circling my arms around her body, I pulled her, struggling, into my chest.

  Dammit! I’d explained! I knew she wouldn’t forgive me right away, but why was she still so upset? What more did she want?

  You don’t apologize. You don’t beg!

  My father’s mantra. Repeated over and over again that summer.

  I hated almost everything he’d taught me, but that was one lesson I’d committed to practice. Apologizing was a sign of weakness.

  But I wanted Tate back.

  My heart only beat for her, and I’d rather spend my life hating, loving, fucking, and breathing her than losing her.

  You need to apologize, dickhead.

  “Shhh, Tate,” I whispered into her ear. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you again. I’m sorry,” I said, closing my eyes as I swallowed the bitter pill.

  She twisted from side to side. “I don’t care about you being sorry! I hate you!”

  No.

  Still securing her with both arms, I used my hands to peel open her fingers and pry out my keys.

  I let her go, and she stepped forward and spun around to face me.

  “You don’t hate me,” I challenged with a grin before she had the chance to speak. “If you did, you wouldn’t be this upset.”

  “Go screw yourself,” she spat back and turned, stomping away.

  Um, where did she think she was going?

  If she thought I was going to let her traipse home, in the dark, on a deserted road, she was out of her fucking mind.

  Digging my feet into the ground, I took off after her, spun her around and threw her over my shoulder like I wanted to do earlier. She landed hard, her stomach caving to my shoulder, and I had a huge desire to keep her there and walk home.

  Fuck the car.

  Well, almost.

  “Put me down!” She kicked her feet and punched my back, and I tightened my hold, willing my fingers to stay put.

  Her ass was next to my head, and goddamn, I wanted to take advantage of her position in her short skirt.

  But in her current mood, she’d probably cut off my dick.

  “Jared! Now!” she ordered, her tone low and commanding.

  Reaching the car, I swung her back upright and planted her ass down on the hood of the car. I immediately came down, placing my hands on each side of her thighs and leaning in.

  Very slowly.

  I knew I should just back off.

  Give her time. Win back her trust.

  But I’d had a taste of her, and I’d rather give up breathing.

  I still made the rules, and we weren’t wasting any more time.

  “Don’t try to get away,” I warned. “As you remember, I can keep you here.”

  It wasn’t a threat. I just wanted her to remember. The way she’d devoured me on that kitchen counter, wanting me as much as I wanted her.

  She tipped her chin down, looking hesitant. “And I know how to use pepper spray and break noses,” she retorted and leaned back, keeping a wary distance like she didn’t trust herself.

  I could see her pulse beating in her neck, but she wasn’t trying to get away.

  She watched me watching her, and the moment stood still as her chest rose and fell with shallow breathes.

  She wanted me like I wanted her, but she didn’t like that she wanted me.

  She was a mess, and I loved it.

  I do th
at to you. No one else.

  “I’m not Nate or Madoc…or Ben.”

  Our noses almost touched as I searched her face. A line of sweat fell down my back, and my dick throbbed, making me feel like I was on fire.

  “Don’t,” she whispered as my mouth hovered over hers.

  Oh, I won’t. You will.

  “I promise. Not unless you ask.” Having her feeling sorry the next day that she gave in to me would suck. I didn’t want that blame. She was going to be a part of this as much as me, and I wanted her crazed and confused over me. And then I wanted her to surrender.

  I guess that’s what I’d been after all along.

  I moved my lips around her face and neck, breathing her in but never kissing her.

  I could still taste her, though.

  My lips grazed her soft cheek, and I just about touched her lips right then when she let out a little moan.

  Fuck.

  Every second my mouth glided over her face, her jaw, her neck, I fought to keep my teeth from sinking into her. I was that hungry.

  “Can I kiss you now?” I half asked, half pleaded.

  She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no either.

  “I want to touch you,” I whispered against her lips. “I want to feel what’s mine. What’s always been mine.”

  Please.

  Her breath caught, and I could tell she was fighting it. Weakly, she pushed me away and jumped off the car.

  “Stay away from me,” she said as she headed for the passenger side.

  Yeah, no.

  I tried to keep my laugh quiet. “You first,” I teased.

  “Give me two.” My father put down two cards to exchange, and my lips twisted up just a little.

  No “How are you?”, “What’s new with you?”, or “Happy Fucking Birthday, son.”

  Nothing.

  I was eighteen today, and my father clearly didn’t remember.

  Or he didn’t care.

  I flipped two more cards off the top of the deck and tossed them across the table to him.

  To hell with it. Ten minutes down, fifty to go.

  We’d been silent since I arrived. Speaking, as usual, only when needed.

  And my stomach was still rolling.

  After the episode with Tate last night, I’d felt great. Relaxed, excited, calm.

  But every week, I got sick before I came to the prison, and my high from last night was now gone. The dreadful anticipation of whatever lousy shit my father was going to say to me made me nauseous. I could never eat anything in the mornings. And most of the time, my hands shook so badly that driving was hard.

  That’s why I opted to drive up last night after I’d dropped Tate off. There was no way I was going to get to sleep with my body in knots over her, so I just got the fuck out of there. Drove up to Crest Hill. Stayed in a motel and came here as soon as visiting hours began. I usually calmed down after I left. I felt safer the closer I got to home.

  The only thing that got me through the visits week after week without throwing up was the necklace.

  And I hadn’t gotten that back last night.

  Right now, though, my insides were caked with acid and burning a trail up my throat. It hurt, and I kept swallowing it down, hoping that he couldn’t see me thinking of her. I knew it sounded weird. How can someone see what you’re thinking? But my father had a knack for reading me, and he was the only person who made me feel weak.

  “So where is it?”

  I ignored his question.

  Who knew what he was talking about, but I was always sorry when I let him get me to talk. I just shut the fuck up and breathed.

  “You’ve been practically keeping one hand in your pants’ pocket almost the entire time of every fucking visit except today. What do you keep in there like a goddamn security blanket, and why don’t you have it all of a sudden?”

  I chewed on my lip, tapped my foot, and then tried saying my cards in my head over and over again.

  2-4-5-6-7. Spade, spade, spade, spade, heart.

  The room, with its high ceilings and long hallways off to the sides, echoed with conversations I couldn’t make out, and the bustle of visitors filled the air. Light poured through the windows, but it didn’t make anything feel happier.

  “You think I’m an asshole.” My father put another card down and spoke quietly. “I am an asshole, Jared. I’ve made you hard, but I’ve also made you strong. No one will hurt you again, because you’re untouchable. Even to that girl, you’re out of reach.”

  I snapped my eyes up to meet his, and my cards crumpled in my fist. The deep rumble of his raspy laugh ripped Tate from my head.

  “You got your money,” I gritted out, tight-lipped. “Shut up.”

  He just shook his head and continued arranging his cards. “Does she know about you? About what a coward you are? About how you abandoned your brother?”

  Jax.

  “There is no ‘she.’” My lie came out as a mumble.

  “You’re right,” he retorted. “You’ll always be alone, because you know that that’s better. And she’ll find someone to marry her and fill her with babies that aren’t yours.”

  My stomach caved, and I didn’t think.

  I slammed my cards down on the table and launched out of my chair, popping my father right across the jaw. The ache in my fist spread up my arm, and I watched as he fell out of his chair, onto the floor, still laughing his ass off.

  My chest heaved as I breathed through my nose.

  “Next week is my last visit,” I told him. “I won’t miss you, but I know you’ll miss me.”

  “That’s enough of that.” I heard a voice say before I was grabbed by the arm.

  Looking up, I saw a guard, a little taller than me with dark hair and light eyes, scowling.

  I yanked my arm away from him. “No worries. I’m gone.” And I turned around, my jaw hard as cement as I walked out.

  “Don’t worry, Jared,” my father yelled behind me. “We won’t stray far from each other. I’ll always be in your head.”

  As soon as I got home from the visit, I found my mom in the kitchen with a cake.

  “No way. I’m not in the mood.” My tone was hard, and I didn’t mean to cut her, but I backed out of the kitchen and walked towards the stairs.

  “Jared, please,” she shouted after me.

  I stopped, every muscle in my chest so stretched that I was ready to scream, and I spun around and charged back into the kitchen.

  My mother stood on the other side of the kitchen table, brown hair in a high bun and arms at her sides. She was dressed nicely in jeans, heels, and a short jacket.

  Gripping the back of the chair until the wood creaked beneath my fingers, I stared at her, trying to swallow down the fight I wanted.

  “I appreciate the effort,” I told her. “I really do. But we’ve gotten along just fine without having to pretend that we’re an actual family. You do your thing. I do mine.”

  My stomach was in knots, and my words spilled out like mud.

  Her eyes dropped, but she recovered and lifted her chin.

  “I want Jax to come and live with us,” she said matter-of-factly and out of nowhere.

  I stopped breathing and narrowed my eyes on her, too shocked to even respond.

  Excuse me?

  Jax live with us?

  She smiled a little and circled the table towards me before I even had a chance to process if she was kidding.

  “Jared, I’ve already spoken to a lawyer. Nothing is for sure, but….” she paused, eyeing me carefully, “but he might be able to help. Do you want your brother with us?”

  I wanted my brother safe.

  I tightened my grip on the chair’s back. “Do you want him here?” I asked her.

  Her eyes dropped, and her lips turned up with a thoughtful smile. “Yes. I like Jaxon.” And then she looked up at me again. “He brings out the best in you. Just like Tate used to.”

  I couldn’t eat cake.

  I didn’t lik
e attention, and the idea of my mother making me blow out candles had me gagging.

  I went to my room and close the door, enjoying the dark and quiet for however long I could have it.

  Jax with us? I thought as I laid on my bed.

  I still couldn’t believe she’d thought of it. That she wanted to take him in.

  It was expensive, but she didn’t seem to care.

  That was one issue I never pushed, even though it confused me. She worked in an accounting firm, earning enough to support us but not enough for what we had. Our house was paid for, I always had the best cell phones, and she had a nice car. Paid for.

  To be honest, I was just afraid to ask. I didn’t want to know how we lived so well.

  I got a text from K.C. saying she hoped we were friends, and she offered a thank-you for the help with her dipshit boyfriend.

  He’ll be cheating again in a month. They always do. But I didn’t tell her that.

  She also let it slip in a not-so-subtle way that Tate was on her own now. Her visiting grandmother had left town.

  My lips turned up, and I was about to stalk over there and pick another fight with Tate when I got a text.

  Everything good?

  Tate’s dad.

  Fine, I typed back.

  You got the house key back to Tate, right?

  Yes, I lied. I wasn’t ready to give that up yet.

  Thanks. Happy 18. Present should be arriving soon.

  Thanks, I typed back, not good at being gracious.

  Tate’s birthday is in a week. Find out what she wants, he ordered.

  I let out a sigh.

  That might be difficult, I texted.

  He shot back not thirty seconds later. A man…?

  And I punched the bed with my fist.

  …takes care of business. I reluctantly finished.

  Make it happen, and thank you, he shot back.

  I threw off my shirt and jumped in the hot shower, lulling me into some fucking peace and quiet for once in the last twenty-four hours.

  I still couldn’t believe I’d hit my father. I’d never done that before, even to defend myself that summer.