My Life as an Album (Books 1-4)
Page 66
She kissed him. Gently, as if he was the one that was going to break if she pushed too hard. His arms went around her and pulled her against his chest, and then he was kissing her deeply, but gently, back. He nipped at her lip with his teeth, and she responded with a little gasp that made him harden underneath her.
She pulled away, looking into his eyes with her own mischievous smile. “Are the teenagers glaring at us?”
Seth risked a look over her shoulder and his face lit up into a smile that reached his eyes. “Yes ma’am, they sure are,” he said with his little southern drawl that made her giggle embarrassingly.
“I think we should take breakfast inside,” she said and pulled him up without bothering with the food at all.
♫ ♫ ♫
It was a long time later that PJ found herself opening her eyes to the sunshine filtering through the slats of his blinds once more. He was asleep, on his stomach, with one arm wrapped around a pillow and the other wrapped around her waist.
She was amazed by the comfort she felt in his bed, in his arms. His gentleness and caring continued to push at her guilt and regret until there was nothing left but the fact that this somehow felt right.
She looked over at the clock on his bedside table. It was one o’clock. Thank goodness it was Sunday, and she didn’t have to worry about being at the gym for her Little Heroes class. Sunday was the only day that the gym was closed.
Even though she didn’t need to be at the gym, she still needed to get going. She needed to go back to the hospital and see Justice, Liv, and baby Cole. She needed to get back to her apartment and make sure Claire hadn’t sent out a search party. She had classwork to finish up and her daily blog to write. Yet she found herself reluctant to remove herself from this little bubble. A bubble Seth had made around her where she felt beautiful and admired in a way that she hadn’t in a long time. If ever.
She traced the scar along Seth’s side. She wondered how he got it. She knew it couldn’t have been anything good. It was jagged and rough. Almost like it was made with broken glass, which made her think again of his piece at the gallery of the metal man torn apart by broken whiskey bottles.
He turned his head on the pillow so that he was staring into her eyes with ones so blue that they still startled her every time she saw them. They were as much a contrast to his Latino heritage as his tenderness was to his brusqueness.
“Don’t go,” he said gutturally.
“How did you know that’s what I was thinking?” she asked with a weak smile.
“I could feel you pulling away.”
Again, as earlier, she wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that he could sense her mood change so quickly.
“I need to go see my family. The baby. I need to go to my apartment and do some homework.”
He stared at her. The force as irresistible as it had been the first time he’d turned those blue moons at her.
“I can take you back to the hospital.”
“What? You going to follow me everywhere?”
“I hope that’s not going to be a problem.” The teasing in his voice couldn’t hide the seriousness that was there too.
She turned to lie on her back so that she could stare at the ceiling instead of him.
“I have to return to the real world. I have my semester to finish up. I have a job. And my writing,” she said calmly, but even to her, she knew she sounded lame. Unsure. Which, of course, was the problem.
“Whatever the job is, you can quit. You don’t need it,” he said, and she could tell he was serious, but that wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. In fact, it forced her the opposite way from what he’d intended. She supposed there were girls that would love to hear him say, Quit your job. I can take care of you. But that wasn’t her. It pushed her toward leaving instead of staying.
“No. I can’t quit.”
“Why?”
“Because…well…I have people depending on me.”
“I’m finding that I am quite dependent on you.”
She smiled because he’d intended her to, but she was also uncomfortable that he was that serious.
“Justice is going to be caught up with Liv and the baby, which means I’m going to need to cover some of his shifts at the gym. I can’t just say no to that.”
“You work at a gym?” He was surprised. It made her laugh because it just went to show how little they really did know each other.
She turned to him, smile still in place. “Yes. I told you, ninja warrior at your service.”
He growled and went to pull her to him, but she chuckled and pushed him off.
“Really. Justice owns this great ninja training gym. You know, like they do on the show American Ninja Warrior? It’s the number one gym in the area for it and parkour sessions.”
“That’s why you’re so strong,” he said with admiration.
She smiled. “Well…yes.”
“Do you like it?”
“The gym? Yes. I like it. I like helping people learn about their own strength, and what they can do with their body. Especially the kids. I like to see how it increases their confidence in themselves, which leaches into all the other areas of their lives.”
“Do you compete?”
“No… I just do it because it makes me feel good to know that I can. Like I’m not weak.”
“That you aren’t dependent on others,” he said with a knowing look.
“Yes. I guess.” Because wasn’t that exactly what made her uncomfortable at the thought of him saying to quit her job? That she’d be dependent on someone else.
“But it isn’t what you love.”
“No. I like it, but I can’t say I see myself doing it forever.”
“What do you see yourself doing forever?”
She was quiet, searching the ceiling for answers that wouldn’t come. Once upon a time, she thought she’d be like Locke, managing artists like Seth. But Pratt’s rejection made her doubt it.
They lay there, feet tangled, his arm still across her body. “I wish that I could find something I’d feel passionate about, like you feel about your art. When I look at what you do… It fills me with awe. I can see that it’s what you were meant to do.”
“It is. But I also think I was meant to do this.” He kissed her neck and her arms and her breasts until she was breathless and panting again, but he didn’t go in for the kill this time. He didn’t take her over the edge. He stopped, kissing her tenderly on the lips.
“I’m afraid if I let you go, you’ll disappear forever,” he said honestly, looking down into her eyes.
“And I’m afraid if I leave that I’ll never hear from you, but I guess we both have to take a leap of faith,” she said quietly.
“I’ve never been good with faith,” was his quiet response.
♫ ♫ ♫
God, wasn’t that true. His life had made him skeptical. He didn’t trust easily. You had to prove yourself to him. It was part of the reason he was so possessive. He knew he could control the situation when he was there, but when he wasn’t there…that was the scary unknown for him.
Bad things had happened to the people he loved when he wasn’t there. To his mom. To PJ too. It’s what made him unable to let her out of his sight when there was a real threat. He had no faith in life. He knew that it didn’t play fair.
But even knowing what caused him to behave that way, to have to control everything, she still left. Because she’d felt herself slipping away. Because she’d felt, if she stayed, there’d be nothing but Seth.
Now that she’s in New York, she misses them all so badly that it hurts. Seth. Her family. The life she’d been making there. She misses being able to love Seth. She misses the way he loved her. But she knows she can’t go back yet. She’s determined to finish what she’s started here.
She puts the letter aside and picks her schoolbook up, determined to concentrate on her classes and not Seth. But she can’t help the thought th
at slips in that she’ll never really be able to escape thinking about him.
Letter Five
SEAT NEXT TO YOU
“Baby, say that you’ll take me…
Wherever you’re going to.
Maybe I want you to save me…
A seat next to you.”
-Bon Jovi, Sambora, & Lindsey
Dear Bella,
I know that what I felt for you made you feel smothered. Like I didn’t trust you to be anywhere that I wasn’t. That I didn’t trust you at all. But it wasn’t a trust issue. It was a fear issue. I was overtaken with fear every time you weren’t with me. Fear that you’d realize what a worthless piece of shit I was. Fear that someone would come into your life that was so much worthier. And later, fear of what that shithead would do.
That first Sunday you left me, I was fighting that fear as I walked you to your car. I had your duffle bag on my arm, and your hand entwined in mine. We were both quiet. All I really wanted to do was to pick you up and carry you back in the house and lock the door. I wanted, even then, to keep you there forever just the way you were, feeling for me just what you were feeling. Can you imagine if I’d told you that then? I know I made you feel caged later. I’m sorry. Men living with fear do stupid things.
Even as I walked you to your car, I knew that the moment wasn’t going to last. That you’d see past my first impression. I knew that once you’d seen the anger and brokenness inside me, that you’d find a way to leave. Which you did. Not that I blame you. I understand it even though I hate it. But that day, I also knew that I couldn’t stop myself from wanting you, even if it ended up shattering my own heart.
I put your bag on the passenger seat before opening the shitty Bug’s driver door. Little did I know that the stupid car would cause us so much pain later. But even that first day, I didn’t want to see you in a rusted-out piece of trash like that. When it took three tries for the engine to sputter to life, I was ready to hand you the keys to the Porsche.
“You need a new car,” I said matter-of-factly.
“I need to pay the rent more,” you retorted with some of the sass from when I first met you. It wasn’t there as much now that I’d pulled back the first layer of your skin. I realized that you used it for protection. Just like I used my wall of ice.
“You’re going to the hospital first?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“Yes. And then back to the apartment.”
“Text me when you get home, and I’ll call you,” I said, reaching in and kissing you. I went to pull back, but you tangled your hand in my t-shirt and held me close, looking into my eyes with unsure ones.
“You promise?”
“I promise,” I said gruffly, not understanding then your history and how much your doubts filled you.
You let me go, and I closed the door, watching as you drove away. My heart was going for a ride along with you. I stared at the empty street for several minutes.
I ran a hand through my hair, looked down at my pajama-clad body, and decided to go for a run. I changed and took off down the beach. I ran down to the pier and back. I was sweaty and hot when I reached my deck. I wanted to break something when I saw the teenager from two doors down waiting for me by the stairs.
“Hiya Seth,” she said with a smile that I knew would have gotten me all the way into her pants when I was seventeen, but now just made me shudder.
“Randi.”
“Your sister visiting you?” she asked with a fake smile that she’d already learned from watching too much Freeform and YouTube.
I’m not very nice. You know that. Not sure the teen did, but I sneered at her anyway. “Would be pretty gross if my sister and I had been engaging in all that tonsil hockey.”
She was shocked by both my crassness and abruptness. But I didn’t care, I needed her to go away. I certainly didn’t need any jealous daddies thinking I was banging his underage daughter.
I’m not writing this now to make you jealous. I’m writing so that you can see that I didn’t care about anyone else. So that you can see that being an asshole was just part of my DNA until you walked into my life. Not even Cam had been able to make me less of a jerk. You. I’d do anything for you. And you have tamed me. Brushed off the corners of my roughness so that it’s more smooth glass than jagged edges.
I moved past the girl, up the steps to my deck, slammed the French door behind me, and went to take a shower. The tangled sheets in the bedroom made me pause. I looked down at the clock on my bedside. You’d only been gone an hour, which meant you’d barely had time to get to the hospital and see your family, but it had been an eternity to me already.
I texted you.
ME: Teenage mutant witch gave me the third degree about you.
It took you a minute, but then I could see the dots that indicated you were responding.
BELLA: I’m sending over the hitman now.
I grinned.
ME: No need. She scuttled away with rejection.
BELLA: Good. I’m not ready to share.
Relief filled me. Relief that you didn’t seem to care that I was texting you already. Relief that you were staking your own claim in me.
ME: Me either. When will you be back?
BELLA: I just left.
ME: It’s been days.
BELLA: It’s been an hour.
ME: Are you sure?
BELLA: Yes?
I smirked at the question mark. It made me feel better. That maybe you were missing me too.
ME: I’m off to hit the shower.
BELLA: That’s so unfair.
ME: ??
BELLA: Now all I can think about is you in the shower. Wet.
ME: Damn girl. Come back home.
You didn’t respond right away. I reread the text and realized I’d used the word home. I wondered if I had completely freaked you out. But I felt like that already. Like you needed to come home.
BELLA: I’ll text when I’m back at my apartment.
I realized that you’d never called your apartment your home. Not once. Not even when you’d been talking about living there with Claire.
I tossed my phone on the bed and headed for the shower. When I came out, rubbing my hair with a towel, it was ringing. I picked it up, heart thumping, and answered without looking at it. “PJ?”
Silence. Followed by Locke breathing out in unhappiness, “No, it’s Locke.”
I couldn’t help my smile. It was my new favorite hobby. Tormenting Locke about you. Because I’d been briefly tormented about him and you.
“What do you need, Locke?”
“A couple things.”
“Business or personal?”
“Both, damn you.”
“I’m not just screwing around with her,” I barked at him.
“That makes it worse!”
“How do you figure?”
“She’s like a sister to me. I wouldn’t want my second cousin twice removed hooked up with a jerk like you, let alone my sister,” Locke replied, honest as always.
It was the honesty I’d always respected, but now it stabbed me in the heart because I also knew it was the truth. I knew that I wasn’t good enough for you. Would never be, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted you.
“That isn’t for you to decide,” I tossed back, trying to control my desire to throttle him.
Silence.
“I know. But she’s been through the ringer enough in her life. I don’t want her hurt again, even if it’s because of her own damn mistakes,” Locke said vehemently.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to be your mistake. That thought just pissed me off more.
“What can I do to make you back off?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“I could stop representing you.”
“Go ahead. I’ll find another brainless agent.”
“I know you don’t really feel that way,” Locke said with his own anger showing.
“That’s saying a lot then,” Locke said with resignation.
“I’m not giving her up,” I told him forcefully.
“If you mess with her, I’ll personally find someone to gut you in a dark alley.”
“If I mess with her, I’ll gut myself in a dark alley.”
We let that set between us for a moment.
“What’s the business you wanted to discuss?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I have a buyer for the waterfall.”
“It isn’t for sale,” I told him bluntly.
“Hear me out—”
“No!”
“They offered a million.”
I stopped, glass almost slipping through my fingers. “Dollars?”
“Yes,” Locke snickered.
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“I never kid about money.”
It was my turn to be silent. Why am I writing about this now? Because it led to what happened later. This was the beginning of that horrible night. It was also the reason you started pushing me away, as if you had to compete with the zeroes in my bank account. But right then, I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact that someone was willing to pay that kind of dough for my piece of junk art.
“I need to think about it,” I offered back. I’d sworn I’d never get rid of the waterfall. Not only was it one of my first major pieces, it was what got me into art school, it was what was left of my time in Tennessee. It was the beginning of my new life.
“Jesus Christ,” Locke said.
“I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just…”
“Sentimental,” Locke finished for me.
“Something like that.”
“You know, I’d swear you really were a soft-ass nerd from the valley instead of a tough-as-nails kid from the Bronx.”
In the past I would have hated him for that, but instead I found myself teasing back. “Maybe you’d let the soft-ass nerd from the valley date your sister.”