by K. C. Crowne
I headed outside, my face being blasted by the snow the minute I opened the door.
Wrestling through the wind, I climbed into my truck and set the wipers as fast as they would go, but they did nothing to slow down the constant attack of snowflakes clinging to the truck and piling along the sidewalk.
"Jesus Christ, I can't see a thing."
Slowly, as though I was driving through cotton wool, I made my way downtown toward Jared's. And maybe Gabby might still be there too. Although from the look she gave me as we departed, I doubted she'd talk to me.
As I pulled up at a red light, I rehearsed what I would say to her.
"I'm sorry if it sounded like I was coming on too strong. I didn't mean it like that. I just wanted to help you get your business idea up and running. Honestly, that's all I meant."
But it sounded weak and unbelievable.
The light turned green and I glided through the streets and noticed that for the first time since I moved to Station Springs, I was the only person on the road.
As I reached the main drag, I saw the empty store that had brought so much promise earlier on in the day, but now stood as a heavy and embarrassing reminder of how much I fucked up. Looking across the road into the diner, I wondered if Jared and Carly were still inside, but there wasn't a soul in sight, and the closed sign was hanging from the door.
Where the hell is everyone?
They were safely tucked inside away from the weather. Anybody with half a brain wouldn't be out in this. As I pulled up outside Jared's building, I looked up and saw the light was on in his living room, casting an orange glow through the hazy, wintery air. It may have been early afternoon, but it felt as though we were approaching the middle of the night.
I didn't bother pressing the buzzer, instead reaching for the key fob Jared had entrusted me with. Letting myself into his apartment, I expected to see him on the couch with a hangover as he watched shark week on TV and piled Doritos into his face. What I saw instead was an empty apartment.
"Hello? Jared?"
I pushed open his bedroom door and saw what looked like an empty bed placed in the middle of a bomb site.
Behind me, a door creaked. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the door to his spare bedroom open and a slender figure peek out.
"Ever heard of a doorbell?" Gabby asked caustically.
"I was looking for Jared," I said, showing her the key fob. "Something's happening at work."
She didn't look happy to see me and remained half hidden by the door, but I noticed she wasn't slamming it in my face either. We just stared at each other, the seconds stretching out in silence as we tried to figure out what to say.
"I'm so..."
"Sorry," we blurted out in unison.
"No, really I am," I said. "Asking you to move in like that. You must think I'm nuts."
"Just a bit."
"I really didn't mean to freak you out. Honestly, I was just trying to help."
"I know. I know you were, really. It was just all a bit much. Didn't mean to be so hard on you, though."
She inched the door open until her body came into view. Looking as though she was just getting ready for the big night ahead, a black silk robe was draped over her bronzed limbs, clinging to her curves.
She's not wearing anything underneath that...
My eyes drifted over her hips, her waist, her breasts, then up to her freshly curled hair.
"I guess I was maybe a bit harsh on you," she said. "But you gotta see it from my point of view. I can't just buy a freakin' store," she laughed. "And I definitely can't move in with you."
"Obviously."
When I thought she was going to hide in the room forever, she gradually came out, her bare feet gracefully moving over the white carpet like a cat's. The elegance of her legs was always something I used to love to watch. The shape of her muscles giving her the perfect balance of strength and femininity. She meandered over to the kitchen area and pulled open the fridge.
"Wine?" she asked.
"I'm not really much of a wine drinker."
"Yeah, I suppose you're too manly for that. Scotch?"
"It's a little early to—"
"It's the weekend."
"Scotch is it."
She poured me three fingers and slid it across the counter.
"Jared and Carly are out to eat," she explained, taking a seat on the nearest stool. As she climbed up, her robe fell away to reveal the tops of her thighs, and I looked down at the floor, not wanting her to think I was staring. But I couldn't stop my eyes flicking up every few seconds to take in the sight of her sumptuous body.
More than anything, I wanted to tell her how amazing she looked, but I didn't dare in case she saw it as a come on. So I tried my hardest to peel my eyes off her and turn the conversation to anything but us.
“The weather's really rotten out there. I'm sure they're gonna cancel the concert.”
“That sucks,” Gabby replied.
“Even if they don’t, I wouldn't suggest going. It'll be a nightmare getting there and back, and the roads will be gridlocked. Honestly, you'd be better just staying in tonight.”
“If you think I came all the way up here to see Roxi Lane only to end up hanging out in Jared’s apartment, you're out of your mind.”
She took a long sip of her drink and shuddered slightly as the chilled wine slipped down her body.
“You said Carly and Jared were out to eat?”
We both looked out the window and imagined them out there as she nodded.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “Something serious happen at work?”
I knocked back my scotch and grimaced as it burned the back of my throat.
“We've got more trouble,” I said. “Looks like the little creep with eyes for you has a big brother in town.”
“A big brother? Please tell me he's bigger than five-foot-four.”
She laughed, but I could see a hint of anxiety in her eyes.
“Mario is everything Benny Junior isn't. The two have hated each other for years.”
“Rivals for daddy's money?” she asked.
“It's more than that. Twenty years ago, Mario was intent on getting his hands on his little brother's cigarette smuggling racket, but he wanted something else too—Benny Junior's girlfriend.”
“Ooooh. So what happened?”
“What happened was Mario shopped his brother to the cops. Stole his business and his girl, and Benny Junior spent a year in jail.”
“Talk about brotherly love.”
“Exactly. Anyway, the two of them have been enemies ever since. Except their dad, a typical old school gangster who ruled his family and business with traditional values kept them apart. But now he's dead, the gloves are off.”
Gabby shook her head as she swirled the wine around her glass.
“Sounds like the plot for some Scorsese movie, not something that would happen in little Station Springs.”
“A lot happens in the world most people wouldn't believe,” I said and reached for the bottle of scotch.
“But that's why big, strong men like you are here to keep us all blissfully unaware.”
I couldn't discern the look in her eyes.
Is she flirting? Or is she mocking me?
Looking down at her body, I saw her robe was coming loose around her shoulders, threatening to tumble down over her breasts.
Noticing me look, she secured it tight and crossed her body defensively. But the look in her eyes remained.
She's playing with me, the little minx.
Chapter 11
Gabby
My head told me to make my excuses and leave, but my body was telling me to drop my robe and leap across the counter at him. Trying to control my impulses, I did neither and just sat there, smiling and making polite conversation as I sipped my wine.
"So,” he said, pouring himself another drink. "You're going home tomorrow."
It was less of a question and more of sad statement. He knew what tha
t meant: once again we'd be going our separate ways.
"Yeah. Well, if the roads are open. "
He raised a single eyebrow but said nothing, swallowing a mouthful of scotch.
"Anyway, I bet you'll be glad to see the back of me," I joked. "Nothing worse than having your ex lurking around town."
"Why would you say that?"
"Oh come on,” I scoffed, chuckling. “I'm sure you've got loads of girls hanging around and there's nothing getting in the way more than me."
I was fishing, of course, eager to know if there were any other girls on the scene.
Why am I doing this? Should I even care if he has other girls?
But as I waited for his reply, my stomach tensed up, and I came to the realization that I was anxious to know.
"I've not had a girl on the scene in months," he said. "It might even be longer than that."
He had to be lying. A guy like him didn't stay single for long unless the enjoyed playing the field.
"Really?" I laughed. "You expect me to believe that."
He swallowed the last of his drink and slammed the glass down with a satisfied sigh.
"Girls aren't exactly my first priority," he told me. "I have other things to worry about."
"Like work?"
"That's one of the things."
But the faraway look in his eye told me there was something much deeper worrying him. He knew I was looking, knew I was trying to figure out what he was thinking. Loosened up by the whiskey, he rubbed his forehead and let out a long exhale.
“When I got back from Afghanistan, I found it hard to meet someone. Or rather, I'd meet a girl, but she just didn't get it, couldn’t understand what I'd been through. And there was the obligatory jealousy they'd all get when I'd tell them my boys came first.”
He looked down at his shoes, taking a deep breath before continuing.
“I've had one or two girlfriends who just couldn't understand why I wanted to spend so much time with my team. They just couldn't get how close we all are, how connected. And of course, they couldn’t cope with being with me at night."
"Why? Do you turn into a werewolf?" I joked to try to lighten the mood, the wine loosening my tongue.
He gave a vague, unimpressed smile and a small chuckle as he went digging in the cupboards for snacks. He pulled out a family size bag of potato chips and began tossing them into his mouth with a grin.
"So, you were saying," I continued, circling my hand in front of me. "Nighttime?"
"I just don't sleep very well," he said, and left it at that.
But he had so much more to say, and as he sat in silence, more lines appeared around his eyes as he frowned. Looking deep into his face, I saw years of unspoken pain.
"Jackson."
"Uh huh.”
"We've known each other a long time."
He nodded.
"Yep, we certainly have."
"If you need to talk, I'd understand."
"Would you?" His eyes searched mine deeply for the connection we once shared.
"I'd try to," I replied, holding his gaze.
The smile returned to his face for a weak, fleeting second. "I guess if any girl could understand, it would be you."
His hand slid over to me, and I squeezed it. “I couldn't even begin to imagine what you've been through."
"You don't want to know."
"But I really do,” I assured him, turning my hand over to link our fingers. “Hey, you might be my ex, but there was a time when you were a huge part of my life. You always will be."
A small spark of hope lit in his tired eyes and he squeezed my hand, pulling me toward him. I slid off the stool and moved around the counter to hold him. Hugging him tight, I laid my head on his shoulder and listened to him breathe as he collected his thoughts.
"I have this nightmare," he said quietly into my hair. "The same one every night. It just plays on repeat. Over and over again. Denny dying. Me not being able to help him. It's the same thing every single fucking day of my life. A reminder I didn't save him. A curse that won't let me sleep."
I leaned back so I could see his face. "Oh, Jackson. You can't keep tormenting yourself like that. It wasn't your fault. You know that.”
He said nothing as he stared off into the distance.
“You can get help," I told him. “You don't have to have nightmares.”
"I didn't last night. After I saw you."
His words hung in the air, heavy and loaded.
"Really?"
He stroked the sides of my arms and brushed the hair from my shoulders.
"Yeah, really," he said, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I don't know how. I don't know why. But I didn’t have the dream last night. I didn’t dream at all. I just thought about you."
A lump formed in my throat that I tried to swallow, but it remained stuck.
Is he being serious? Is he just feeding me a line to hook me in?
But I knew he wasn't. He’d never been that type of guy.
"I'm so sorry," I said. "You've been through so much. Have you tried getting help?"
He stiffened. "I don't need help. I need to work." And he reached for the scotch again. "I don't need anyone. That's why I don't bother with girlfriends. They don't get it. Nobody does. And you think some shrink is gonna understand me? All they're gonna do is give me pills and tell me to meditate or some shit."
He laughed, but it held no humor, and I knew it was just to mask the pain.
"Listen to me," I said, grabbing him by the shoulders. "You don't have to suffer alone."
"I'm not alone," he said. "I have my team. I don't need anyone else." The look in his eyes told me he needed me.
We may have been apart, but I’d known him most of my life, knew how he thought, what he felt, and I knew he was hurting.
I held him close and ran my fingers through his hair. He relaxed and eased into my arms, his hands around my waist to pull me closer.
"I still care about you," I explained.
He held me tighter and we fell silent. I stood in his arms, breathing in his scent that mingled with the cold from outdoors. I remembered all the times we'd had together, all the things I’d loved about him. It hurt to think he was unhappy, that he was plagued by pain that kept him up at night and held him back from fully enjoying his life. Jackson was the toughest man I knew, had served our country and done things the rest of us weren't brave enough to do. If he admitted to being in pain, then it must be bad.
The longer I held him, the more a voice from the back of my mind forced itself forward.
You still love him. You always have.
I took a deep breath and tried to silence it, but it came back stronger.
That's why you've failed at every relationship since. Why you've always dated deadbeats and losers you knew wouldn't stick around.
Shut up!
I pulled away and walked to the window. Looking outside, I tried to see if Jared's car was visible down the street, but there was nothing and nobody, and the whole town was under at least two feet of snow. Glancing over my shoulder, Jackson was moving into the living room and cranking up the heat. He walked over to the couch and flopped himself down.
He ruffled his hair, and for a second, I could still see a hint of the boyish cuteness that remained on his face. And as he looked at the TV, the light reflected off his high, golden cheekbones and illuminated the smooth sharpness of his jaw.
How the hell did he get even more handsome?
Before I knew it, my legs were carrying me across the room toward the sofa. He looked up, pleased to see me approach and moved up the couch to make room for me. I sat down beside him, trying to keep some distance between us, but it was impossible—as though we were being pulled toward each other.
He lay a hand on my back, the heat from it penetrating to my core.
"I've missed you so much," he said, his low voice grumbling in barely more than a whisper.
I looked at his strong arms, his body rippling beneath his t-shirt
. I should have pulled away from him and showed him the door, but instead I said, "I missed you too," and drew closer to him.
It felt so natural for our lips to meet like they had a thousand times before, but at the same time, there was a difference to our kiss. It was hungrier and hotter, and as our lips pressed hard into each other's, our hands desperately explored each other's bodies.
I lay my hands on his stomach, felt his abs contract and the breath rise and fall inside him. Pushing my hands up underneath his shirt, I scratched my nails softly down the length of his chest. He let out a moan as he lay on top of me, his hands reaching up beneath my robe.
His deft fingers tore at the thin length of ribbon that had concealed my body from him. Pulling my robe open inch by inch, he revealed my breasts, my stomach, the sacred spot between my legs that was on fire and growing wetter by the second. For a second, he just looked down at me, awe in his eyes, then he gripped my breasts and sucked them one by one, his tongue making large circles around my nipples.
It had been so long since I’d been touched like that. Nobody had ever done it like him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer to me, his hands working their way down the length of my body, pulling my hips up to meet his.
"Take it off," I said, pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt.
He sat up so I could see the whole power of his body and pulled it up over his head. The sight of him took my breath away. The tattoos, the tanned skin, the enormous muscles that showed the years of dedication he'd given to being the best, the strongest, the bravest. But there was something else too, a scar that snaked around the side of his ribs.
"What's that?" I asked, my fingertips runny over the bumpy surface.
"Shrapnel," he explained.
"You were hit by a bomb blast?"
"More than once," he said, uncaring. "That little bastard got me good though."
He looked down at the scar and lay his hand on top of mine.
"Punctured my rib cage. Missed my lung by an inch."
I was dumbstruck. "Were you scared?"
He thought for a second, then said, "Not for myself. I was more worried about my brothers."