“Ugh!” I roll my eyes and open the fridge, taking the produce bags from Scott and setting them inside the drawers. “You two are ridiculous.”
“You bought reusable bags,” I play with the ties, fascinated by them.
“That seemed better than having everything shoved into one bag and chase each thing afterward,” he responds, exhales and speaks. “Have you checked the houses that I sent you?”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” I reply, glad he didn’t ask before today. “They’re all expensive, but I know you can afford them. Now, the one by the marina is beautiful, has six bedrooms but there’s no patio for your dog.”
I stop, go to the dining table where I left my phone and walk back to the kitchen. I tap my password and pull the website of the animal shelter. “There’s an eight-month-old Golden Retriever.”
“You’re searching for dogs?” His brows pull together, he leans closer to see the picture I have on my screen.
“We can meet her tomorrow.” I smile, putting my phone away.
“She’ll be a big girl. If that’s the case, you have to check the other ones. The one in Pacific Heights with fifteen bedrooms is a little too much for you. But if you want a big family that’s a good place to grow. My favorite is the one with seven bedrooms. Not too big, not too small.”
His expression is blank, and I hate this guarded man.
“Favorite house?” He pulls his own phone. “Why that one?”
“It has a library,” I say in awe. “And it’s on Scott Street.”
“You like that one?” His eyebrow arches. “I guess it is a good option. Expensive but I liked the patio too. It beats Hunter’s brownstone.”
I chuckle, because even though they are seven years apart, sometimes he and his youngest brother like to compete. Well, the four brothers are close but they have that rivalry that only siblings can share.
“We can see it tomorrow if you want to,” I offer. “After meeting the pup.”
He pulls a take-out carton out of the box and hands it over with a pair of chopsticks. His eyes not leaving mine and he smiles shaking his head. “You sure about that?”
“This is what I do, Scott. Research, plan, and look forward to a new project. It helped me a lot after we visited the old house.”
“Are you okay?” He uses a cautious tone.
“Yeah,” I sigh, tired of answering that same question repeatedly. I’m fine, things are moving along…I think.
“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.” His voice is tender, almost post-orgasm sweet. “Why am I having trouble understanding you?”
I hold my breath, staring at him.
There might be a thing or two, but I won't discuss Elliot or the plethora of emotions running through my veins with you.
Scott’s arm extends, his index finger caresses my cheek. I lean against it, closing my eyes and feeling my mind quiet down for a few seconds. Everything and everyone around us disappears. It’s only the two of us as his magical touch erases my worries. I know that when he’s around, I can stop worrying that everything must be perfect. He doesn’t care if I’m a little distracted. He knows that if I don’t write something on my list, I’ll forget it. So, he sets reminders because he knows how much I hate overlooking things. He’s aware that not pleasing people makes me anxious. I can be myself with him.
“I am having trouble understanding you too,” I say, opening my eyes.
I find myself a little short of breath when I notice his face is so close to mine. He stares at me. Those magnetic eyes concentrate on my face. He grabs what I hold in my hands and takes me into his arms. My entire body quiets down as I rest my head on his chest. But I shake my head, remembering that this isn’t where I belong. I wanted to be a part of him, but he doesn’t want me in that way.
“The unknown makes me feel vulnerable. It’s hard to deal with it and then…”
I want to tell him what his presence provokes not only to my body but my head. It’s a combination of lust and the desire of having something real with him.
“Be patient,” he says. “You’ll find whatever you’re looking for that will help you fight the depression you’re carrying with you.”
“Maybe it’s somewhere in that house. Somewhere in the world, there should be the answer to my eternal question. Where do I belong?” I say. “I feel five and lost, waiting for someone to choose me. When I’m almost thirty, and I shouldn’t care.”
Scott’s eyes grow dark, he grabs me by the back of my head pulling me to him crushing his mouth against mine. The kiss is hard, desperate, and fast.
He releases me, and as he recovers his breath, he says, “This time you get to choose where you belong, and I pray to God that you choose me. Because there’s something I should’ve told you years ago, Hazel Beesley.”
He stares at me. His Adam’s apple moves slowly. “I belong to you.”
My heart melts with his words, the kiss. But my mind spins out of control. What does he mean?
I belong to you.
I’m speechless.
I’m breathless.
I’m confused.
His eyes bore into mine. “I think you are here for a soul-searching journey,” he pauses. His jaw twitches. “Or to find what you once lost. I’m here because I know you need me—and I need you like I need oxygen, water or my next breath. I won’t leave you unless you ask me to leave.”
The uneasiness in my stomach increases. I suck on my lip, staring at Scott. Soaking on those words and even more confused than I was before.
“So where does this leave us?” I frown. “Should I trust you blindly with my heart, and wait to see what happens next?”
“No, I don’t want you to be with me because I’m saying the right words, but because you know we belong together.”
I gasp, touching my burning lips. Why give me that kiss and stir the gamut of feelings when he’s never going to say yes? Yes, let’s be more—everything.
“We can’t be more until you figure out what you want,” he pauses swallowing hard. “Who you want.”
“I don’t understand. Why now?”
“Before I was afraid that if I handed you my heart, you’d shred it, and we’d lose what we have.”
He lets out a long breath. “Yet, I lost you,” he whispers, flinching with pain.
“You said we couldn’t be more. I wanted more,” I say bluntly.
“Well, I can’t offer more when there’s too much going on inside your head. You’re still waiting for him.”
I open my mouth and close it because I have nothing to say.
“You want time, and I plan on giving it to you,” he says, and I can tell that he means it by the roughness and desperation in his voice.
“I need to go for a ride,” Scott announces, nodding lightly and leaving me standing in the middle of the kitchen more confused than I was before.
Chapter Thirteen
“Sometimes it seems safer to hold it all in, where the only person who can judge is yourself.” ― Sarah Dessen
Elliot
“Have you noticed that every time we start our morning run, there’s at least one or two women behind us?” Kyle asks as we approach the intersection. Looking around, I spot two ladies jogging right behind us. Both are wearing tight yoga pants, loose tank tops and staring right at us. “We should charge for this kind of show, too.”
“Excuse me.” A sweet blonde wearing nothing, but a sports bra and a tiny pair of shorts taps my shoulder. I push my sunglasses up, arching an eyebrow. “Do you know where Marina Boulevard is? That’s where I’m supposed to meet my girlfriend for our morning run.”
“Just continue down Lyons until you find the intersection of Marina Boulevard,” I point toward the ocean.
“Thanks! So…do you two want to join us?” She straightens up her posture, pushing her chest up and giving me a glorious view of her round breasts.
Kyle laughs, rolling his eyes. “Like we haven’t heard that one before.” I rub my forehe
ad. The sarcastic tone promises some fucked up comeback. My best friend is a fucking cynic with zero finesse. The ass will either disclose his rate for a lap dance or give her his card with a coupon for a private show. “Though you look like a fine girl, my partner and I will have to pass. We’re exclusive. Right, babe?” He winks at me, blowing me a kiss.
Or pretend that we’re a couple. Fuck, some days I hate his guts.
“Oh, no. I—that’s …” she stutters, looking back at me. “So just s—straight down Lyons, right?”
Kyle laughs as she hurries down the street without giving us a second glance. When the light changes to green, we cross the street. The two women who followed us, now jog ahead of us. He shrugs and mouths, you’re welcome.
“Are you fucking real, ass?” I grunt as we pass the playground and head to the trail.
“Killed two birds with one stone,” he defends himself. “The other two that passed us have been following us for a couple of weeks. Gawking at me while working is one thing, but unacceptable during my everyday activities. It’s uncool. I’m a private person.”
Kyle Maxwell is one contradictory son of a bitch. A man who craves his privacy, but continues stripping. Bringing up the obvious is pointless. He believes that stripping is irrelevant to leading a quiet life. Ignoring his comment, I crank up the volume on my phone, secure my wireless headphones and speed ahead.
Jogging through the trails where other runners, mothers with strollers, and a few dog walkers race along with us reminds me of Hazel and the future I ruined. I honestly thought that seeing her wouldn’t affect me. That it wouldn’t hurt. But the memories are killing me slowly, like arrows shooting through my heart. I was exhausted of feeling nothing. Yearning for something to pull me out from the hole I fell into so many years ago. But I never expected to drown in nostalgia.
“You okay, Elliot?” Kyle asks as we arrive at our building and head to the gym. “You’ve been out of it since I told that chick we’re a couple. Should I be concerned? Is there something you want to say? Because I’m not gay, dude.”
“Wouldn’t you wish?” I punch him in the arm. “If I were gay, I would choose someone hotter than you to settle down with.”
“I’m a catch,” he retorts, laughing. “Anyone would love to have a piece of me. You’d be proposing after the third date.”
Proposing?
My gut churns because I never did that with Hazel. I just said, “you’re eighteen, we should get married.”
I lay a hand on my chest, rubbing it. The regret sucks all the air out of my long.
He arches an eyebrow, snorting. “Have you heard from Hazel, yet?”
“We’re not discussing Hazel,” I scowl at him.
Kyle doesn’t need to know that I saw her last night, lost in her own thoughts. I wanted her to tell me what was wrong with her. Reach out and band her with my arms, protecting her from the world. But I lost the right to all those things years ago. However, she’s here and I’m planning on winning her heart back. I have hope.
“I’m talking about the contracts, fucker.”
“We should learn something today.” I check the wall clock. “Do you mind calling her if we don’t hear from her by noon?”
“Or you can call her.” He takes a towel from the shelf next to the door, wiping his forehead. “I think it’s time to grow a pair and fix what you broke—you miss her.” He throws the towel into the basket next to him, exiting without a word.
Miss her? Being deprived of her existence deserves a stronger word. Is there such thing? I’ve been half-living since I lost her. Her presence in San Francisco still puzzles me. The hardest part of seeing her again was not being able to touch her. My hands fought against my mind. They only wanted to reach forward and catch the other half of myself.
Chapter Fourteen
“Every day is a new life to a wise man.” —Dante
Hazel
A new day, a new approach. After my trip to Santa Cruz, I decided that I’m done sulking. I don’t plan on chasing my problems away by working myself until I’m so tired I can’t think. I have to grow up and face everything that bothers me the right way. And stop pleasing everyone around me just to get some love. So now, that’s on top of my ‘to fix list.’
I canceled on Fitz and practiced yoga at home. I texted Scott that I would work from home at least until nine. Before leaving my apartment, I text Fitz and Scott that I’m on my way to the office. I email Gramps the proposal for his three o’clock meeting and upload it to the cloud too. Once I pack my laptop, I grab my purse and head to my car.
When I reach the sidewalk, I regret not bringing a light jacket. It’s raining. I head upstairs, change my heels for a pair of rain boots and grab my black raincoat. On my way downstairs I spot Fitz.
“What are you doing here?”
“I fucking knew it!” Fitz growls, his index finger pointing at me as he declares me guilty of some charge.
“Excuse me?” I cross my arms, I wait for him to say more.
“You think you’re too smart, that we wouldn’t notice.” Fitz marches toward me. He beams at what might be the answer to one of his eternal questions. “Clearly, those business trips you took with Scott for the past couple of years had only one agenda, fucking.”
I remain quiet, my heart beating fast.
Feign ignorance, he can bluff as much as he wants.
His blue eyes darken, his features harden. “I’m disappointed in both of you. From him, I get it. He’d rather chew his hand than trust anyone with his personal life. Hunt and I are too young to understand. We’re his kid brothers. He has to take care of us. But you…”
I grab onto the railing. My eyes open wide and my stomach drops. “What…what are you saying?”
If I ever wanted Fitz to find out, it was because I was ready to discuss it with him. Today isn’t the day.
“Scott got a little drunk last night.” His jaw sets. “Poor bastard, he’s a mess.”
“It’s not what you think.” My response comes out automatically, without thinking.
My pulse spikes, I am trapped. God, I never thought I’d be blindsided.
“What I think is that you should’ve trusted me.” His voice echoes all around me. “This is huge.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m hurt. When did it start?”
“When my mother died.” I huff, thinking about the first time Scott and I kissed. The same night we made love for hours—all night. “It was supposed to be a one-time thing.”
Pressing my lips together, I drop my gaze thinking about that day. It was in Costa Rica while we claimed my mother’s body and tried to help my father. I was lonely. Broken. Scott was his usual take-charge-solving-problem persona. But he was also sweet, gentle. So loving. During all those long hours, he held my hand, put his arm around my back or just made sure he was close enough so I could lean on him.
“Would you stay with me tonight?”
Scott kissed me lightly, but that lingering kiss transformed into a long passionate kiss
I remembered it as if it happened only minutes ago. His hands glided smoothly over me. He worked them slowly, pressing them firmly, possessively.
“You taste like honey, sin and love.” His words, his hands and that mouth slid through my skin, touched my soul and I wanted him to stay with me forever.
I was taken by his low voice, the heat of his body so close to me.
Everything that night was extreme. Intense. Sweet, rough, fast, slow, blissful, an explosion of mega proportion. Every kiss curled my toes and my soul.
Scott is intoxicating, addicting. After that first time, my body wanted more of him, from him.
He became my drug.
My body shivers as I remember the feel of his skin against mine. The tingling heat flowing through my body when his lips touched mine. Each kiss was different. Soft. Hard. Passionate. Tender. Possessive. He made me feel desired, cherished. By him. I wish I could explain the why of the unspeakable craving we had for ea
ch other. We couldn’t get enough. The hunger’s big and impossible to satiate.
“We make little sense.” I snort.
“No kidding,” Fitz retorts.
But Scott’s uneven edges fit with mine perfectly.
“A one night fling became a week,” I say, avoiding the details of what made me so reckless. “When we’re together there’s this beautiful magic surrounding us. But once we arrived in New York we stopped.”
I glance at Fitz who watches me intently. His eyes are bluer, but his look is so much like his brother’s. He says nothing, and I’m not afraid of what he’s thinking. But we might not be the same after this. I should’ve trusted him. But how could I when I didn't understand what Scott and I were doing?
“What happened between us became ours. It was supposed to be casual, physical. Sharing it with others could break the spell.” I bit my lip. “I couldn’t risk it, so I played by his rules.”
Every weekend we booked a getaway where we got to know each other. We found a million excuses to jump on a plane. We had sex, but we also found the time to see the world. Just the way Scott planned before his parents died.
The moments I spent with him were precious. He shared a part of himself that he hides from everyone, even his brothers. He listened to what I had to say, and so did I. I paid attention to his gestures, that deep frown he makes when he’s thinking, but everyone believes he’s angry. His left brow arches when he wants to object but prefers to stay quiet.
When we were together time stopped.
We had no limits.
There was no end.
Until I had to end it.
“But you’re not together anymore, are you?”
I shake my head. “No, because I wanted to change our dynamic,” I confess, “Scott didn’t want more. That’s when everything stopped.”
“I feel like your dirty secret,” I said, jokingly but also trying to change our relationship.
I enjoyed being with him on weekends, but I yearned to have him next to me at nights. The hopeless romantic in me wanted to share more than some stolen kisses and getaways.
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