Shaking my head, I pull Olivia’s bottle from her diaper bag and give it to her before I respond. “I am used to doing things on my own, Justin. I don’t mean it personally.”
“But what if you don’t have to?” His question startles me. What does he mean? Of course, I have to. His intense stare captures my own as he leans across the table. “What if, I could help you?” He licks his lips and I watch as his tongue circles his mouth.
God how I’ve dreamed of what his mouth is capable of doing on more than one occasion. But Michael has only been gone almost seven months. This is all too soon. Too fast. Denying myself is torture, but letting him in, letting him help me, that could prove disastrous.
“I don’t think that is such a good idea,” I laugh nervously.
“Really?” He teases, leaning back in his seat. “I can read your mind, Rose. And I just saw what your dirty thoughts implied.”
His grin makes me embarrassed. God, I guess I totally misread that. Looking into his eyes shyly, I’m taken back to see him wink at me. Or did I? Laughing, he stands just as I notice Liam running towards us with the pirate he won from the machine. “Let me take you home, Rose.” He chuckles. “And I promise I’ll be a real gentleman when we say goodnight. Even with those dirty thought running through your mind.”
He has no idea.
Justin
“Now, goodnight honey. We will plan it in the morning,” I hear Rose say to Liam as she exits his room down the hallway. Olivia was put to bed almost an hour ago when we got back from the diner. I wasn’t planning on staying. I was going to say goodnight on the doorsteps. But Liam pulled me inside and made me promise to play at least one game of war with his action figures. I haven’t done that since I was a kid, and man did it take me back to a simpler time.
“Ok, Ok,” I hear Rose whisper as she tries to get her son to sleep. “I promise, now go to sleep.” She laughs as she finally succeeds in getting out of his room. I smile at her as I sit at the counter in her kitchen and watch her make her way towards me. She shakes her head as she smiles. I know there is nowhere else she would rather be and nothing else she would rather be doing then being a mother to those two children. I know she fights herself. Fights her late husband’s death. But she is a rock star for all she carries and it’s about time she started thinking so herself as well.
“All he can talk about is scaring little Miss Ashley Turner down the street now thanks to that costume contest,” she rolls her eyes with a laugh as she enters the kitchen. “I blame you if I get a call from the scared girl’s parents come the end of this month.”
I laugh and swivel around in my seat to see her hold up a bottle of wine in my direction. I shake my head no, which makes her open the fridge and hand out a bottle of beer for me instead. I nod, and she pops the top and hands it over before returning to the red wine and pouring herself a glass.
“I make no promises. I remember being four and having a crush on a girl in my neighborhood as well. Charlette Thompson,” I say as the memory comes back to me. “God, I had it bad for her all the way through high school.”
Happy memories turn to nightmares as I am flooded with visions I suppressed a long time ago. Shaking my head, I stare Rose in the eyes and raise the bottle to my lips. “Men will do anything when they have it bad enough. Might be too late for that little boy in there.” I say, trying to change the subject, but she sees right through me.
“Where did you go just then,” she asks, as she swirls the red liquid around in her wine glass. Startled, I stare back at her blankly before she continues. “You know,” she says, coming a little closer to me and rounding the counter. “Sometimes, when you look at me, I swear you can see right through me.” Her confession startles me, because hell if I haven’t thought the same damn thing. She sets her wine glass down, and nerves take over me as she picks up my empty hand in her own. She rotates it around for a moment before glancing back up into my eyes. “It’s like, I don’t even have to speak because…”
“You already know what I am thinking.” I finish for her. Her sad eyes smile at me and fuck if it doesn’t kill me knowing that I need this connection between us more than I have ever needed anything in my life. Turning slightly, I set my beer down on the counter before pulling her closer and grasping both her hands in my own. She doesn’t look at me, and a part of me doesn’t blame her, but I need to see into her eyes. I need to know that this connection is real, that I am not just imagining things.
“Rose,” I whisper, but she doesn’t respond. “Rose, look at me.” When she does, she has tears in her eyes. She blinks, and they fall over and splash against her skin. I take my thumbs and brush them away lightly. Just as I am about to drop my hands, her own come up to grab them and hold them steady against her face.
“I’m going to regret this, I know it,” I whisper between us.
She smiles, reading me and knowing what I am thinking just as much as I can read her. “Not as much as I will.” She cries slightly, as she slowly closes the distance between us.
I watch her eyes as she pulls me in. Time pauses as her face, her lips, her body comes closer until I can’t take anymore. I forcibly run my hands to the back of her head and pull her into me quickly. She lets out a gasp as our lips hover against one another, moments away from touching, and I hold her soft mouth against my own. She stills, and something about this moment feels too perfect. Something about the feeling of her body against my own tells me I will never get the chance to feel the way I do when I am with her, with anyone else.
My hands drop to her waist as I pull her tighter against me. She moans slightly, her arousal taking over as our bodies brush up against one another. Tenderly, her lips inch closer and part, but our eyes stay open and I stare into her soul as my tongue brushes against her own for the first time. I watch as her eyelashes flutter when the sensation becomes too much. I know the way she is feeling because fuck, I feel the same as her addictive kiss steals my breath away and makes it hard to ever need anything again in my whole fucking life the way I need her.
As the sensation becomes too much, our eyes close on instinct as our kiss deepens. Our embrace now hungry, passionate, needy with an urgency to feel more of what only we can give each other. She fists my shirt in her hands and pulls me closer. I stand and grab her tightly around the waist, pushing her and making her walk backwards into the living room.
Reaching the couch, I hoist her up in my arms effortlessly and she wraps her legs around my waist before I lay her out beneath me. She purrs quietly as I lay on top of her and raises her hips to grind against my hardening length. I grab her long brown hair in my fist, making her turn her head to the side, and she lets out a moan as my lips meet her skin. Gently, I plant kisses across her neck, over her collarbone and start to make my way down her chest.
“Justin,” I hear her whisper above me as my hands come up to grab her breasts and mold them in my large palms. But I don’t answer, and I know she knows I won’t. I can’t. I am too lost in the beauty, the allure, the delicacy that is her. She raises her hips as my free hand runs up the inside of her leg before my fingers lightly brush against her center. She lets out a whimper and all that does is make me fucking harder. I groan as I take the top of her cleavage in my mouth and suck hard like my life depended on it. Like she is the last chance I’ll ever get at tasting heaven, and I intend to enjoy every last fucking drop. Just like I want to do to other parts of her body, but won’t out of fear of pushing her too far.
Her hands fall to my jeans, and my heart rate quickens as she fumbles with the button before she successfully has me free and I feel her small hand as she begins to stroke me through my boxers. God, we can’t be doing this. Not now. Not ever. But she is too damn perfect, and I know I will never get this chance again, so fuck my conscious I am taking what I want. What I need. And I pray I don’t break us, ruin whatever this is in the process.
“Damn,” I hiss out in approval as her fingertips circle my tip. She knows she has me almost at the point of no r
eturn and the thrill it gives us both is a high I never want to live without as long as I live. “God that feels so good,” I whisper, as I attempt to free her from her leggings and do the same to her body. I need to feel, touch, caress, taste, and right now there is too much in my way. But the way she touches me feels too damn good and I stop as the sensation it gives me reaches new heights and I look at her and watch as she seductively stares back at me. She grabs my length and strokes it in her hand, moving up and down my shaft and taking all my self-control with her. My head falls back as I get lost in the feeling. The growing need to have her, keep her, and never let us go.
“Fuck, Rosie, you have no clue what that does to me.” I groan just before her movements stop. I wait for them to continue. I hold my breath and pray for this moment to never stop. When she doesn’t begin again after a moment, I look down and see regret in her eyes and know I put it there.
Backing away, she sits up quickly and starts to cry softly. I try to console her, but she puts her hand up and stops me.
“Rosie, I…”
“Rose!” She angrily responds. “Only Michael called me Rosie.” She pushes off the couch and shit if what she didn’t just say stabbed me in my selfish heart. My insides sink as I button up my jeans, stand, and make my way over to her in the corner of the living room.
When she doesn’t say anything after a while, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
She tries to hide her hateful laugh, but I hear it and it stings as it makes its way around my heart.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please just go.”
I wait for a moment. Why? I don’t know. But I need to know she is sure. That this didn’t just push her over the top. That everything is ok. That we are ok.
When silence is all there is between us, I ask, “Are you ok?”
She turns slowly, and for the first time I can’t read her as we stand in the dark and the shadows play across her features. “I’m fine. I will see you at work Monday.” She says coolly.
I know I should call her on her bullshit. I know she is lying. But what just happened clouds my better judgment and I find myself turning and heading towards the front door. She watches me, and just as I turn the knob and go to leave, I look up in her eyes one last time and swear she is going to stop me. When she doesn’t, I give her a sad nod and walk out into the night.
Rose
Whore! Slut! Tramp!
Seven months! Michael has been dead seven months, and this is what you do? You never loved him. Not when you feel the way you do about Justin. Your boss! The one you just allowed to take you to a place you never felt before with your own husband.
I watch as Justin walks down the pathway from my house to the street. His head hung low. His hands shoved in his pockets. All I want to do is call out to him. Tell him to stop. To come back. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to hear the voices. The ones that always start when he leaves and seem to quiet when he stays.
I look back at the couch in the living room. The one that Michael and I used to sit on Christmas morning as Liam opened presents. The one that I just let Justin almost take me on with no regard for Michael or my two sleeping children in the back room.
What the fuck is wrong with me!?
I storm across the room to the kitchen and find my wine glass still sitting on the counter. Grabbing it quickly, I swallow the whole thing down like it’s my last damn meal and walk across the kitchen to pour more.
What the hell did I just do?
Standing with a tight grip on the glass, I look across the small space and see a picture hanging on the wall. My wedding picture. A picture that was supposed to be the start of forever. Not the beginning of what eventually became the worst fucking end to ever have to walk through alone, for the rest of my damn life! I release my breath slowly, my body shaking as it leaves my lungs. Raising the glass to my lips, I swallow half of the new glass I just poured and welcome the numbness that begins to creep into my mind.
You can’t shut me out. I will always be here. Always stay. There isn’t enough alcohol to keep me quiet. All you are doing is fueling a fire!
I look at the bottle on the counter and wonder just how much I will have to drink to prove myself otherwise. With only one bottle in the house, I know that the likelihood is impossible, but I raise my glass anyways and chug the rest down in a lightning rate.
Keep drinking, Rosie. The voice echoes through my mind. There is only one way to end me. To end this. And that is to end you.
My mind traces back to this morning and I notice the knife on the counter in the kitchen. A fire burns inside as I watch it, as if it will move on its own. Picking up the wine bottle, I pour myself another glass and continue to drink as I take in the shiny object, staring and judging me across the room.
You want silence. You want peace. You know what to do. So, do it. Stop dancing around it, and fucking do it.
Rage fills me inside. Hatred for myself. Hatred for a life I once had and a past I can never get back now that it is gone.
“Fuck you!” I yell. Throwing my glass to the side. Glass shatters under my feet as I lunge for the knife and gasp out when I finally hold it in my hand.
Silence. It is finally silent.
Turning around quickly, I make my way towards the living room and stand in the darkness. My breathing quickens. My heart rate explodes against my chest. I look to my side and see the couch.
“Fuck you!” I yell, as I lunge for it and make contact with the smooth fabric. In seconds I slash a hole in the material and feel no remorse. Tears stream my face as I slash another hole, and then another. Stuffing flies out and scatters around me, but I don’t stop. I grab one of the throw pillows and slash it again and again. Stabbing the fabric like I want to do to the inside of my mind.
Minutes fly by like seconds before I am being pulled from behind and wrapped in a pair of strong arms. I fight him at first. I pull at his wrists needing to be free. But he holds me still. He tightens his grip. He doesn’t let me go and I eventually crash into him as my cries take over.
“It’s ok,” Justin whispers in my ear as I turn and fall apart against his chest. “I got you, Rose. And I won’t let go.”
Chapter 7
Justin
The sound of keyboards clicking meld together as my mind goes numb and I stare out across the office. No one speaks a word as they work quickly on this Thursday afternoon to get tomorrow’s paper out. I hear the chime for the front door and look up as Rose stands, makes her way over to the counter and accepts a package from the UPS driver. I watch as she signs for the box, her tiny, delicate hands grasping the pen as she scribbles her name.
It has been almost two weeks since that night at her house. After I held her, watched her fall apart, sat silently while she put herself back together again and stayed with her through the night, taking watch in the recliner in her front room to make sure she was OK. But she has barely spoken a word to me. The next morning when Liam woke to find me in his dad’s chair, he was quick to pull me out of it to play. But the look in his mother’s eyes as she came out of her room let me know it was best if I leave, and the sooner the better. Which I did, but not before making the kids pancakes and trying to get their mother to look me in the damn eye.
I summed it up to embarrassment, shame, guilt, although she had no need to feel any of those things. I figured by Monday she’d be better. I wasn’t sure if she’d be perfect, given we both took things a lot further than expected Saturday night, but I had hoped she’d at least give me the damn time of day after what she allowed me to see. Her, with her guard down, and a small glimpse into her darkness.
Like she has every other damn day since that night, she steals a glance in my direction as she turns and finishes signing for the package. Her eyes catch mine for only a damn second and I stare back sternly, intent on conveying everything that she is not allowing me to even fucking say since she fell apart in my arms.
Do you need anything? Can we talk about it? Please don’t avoid me. Le
t me help you!
And like clock-work, she glances away quickly when the connection between us becomes too much and it’s evident neither of us can take staring in each other’s eyes any longer without breaking. What I wouldn’t give for the chance to break. To tell her everything on my mind, my heart, what every damn part of me wants to say. But she won’t fucking let me.
The door chimes again and breaks the hold she has on me. I look up to see my 3 o’clock and watch as his eyes search the building before landing on Rose. She still has her back turned to him as she is opening the package and I take in just what he is admiring while her back is turned. His head tilts to the side as he nonchalantly leans back and examines her ass, making bile rise in my throat and a fire rage from the pit of my stomach. Instinctively, I stand and start to make my way out of my office. The protective instinct I feel over her now at an all-time high. Normally, I’d wait for Rose to come to me, make her talk and tell me my appointment is here. But now, with the way he is eyeing her and making me 100% fucking jealous, I don’t give a damn who sees the hold this woman suddenly has on me.
Just as I make my way out of my office door, Rose turns around and takes a step back. I look up in time to see the man’s eyes as recognition, shock even, flashes across them right as they lock with Roses’. In a turn of events that I was entirely not expecting, she squeals, before taking off running and jumps into the stranger’s arms. He laughs, making me stop in my tracks, as he spins her around and the fire, the burn, the jealous tick inside me begins to hammer out of control.
“Damn, Ro! What are you doing here? I thought you’d leave town after the funeral?” He sets Rose down and my stomach churns as a sickness continues to build up to my throat while I am forced to stand here and watch their exchange.
Resurrection Page 4