by Lisa De Jong
“What was she like?”
“Who?”
“Alyssa … was she anything like me?”
He swallows, briefly looking over my head before his eyes meet mine again. “In some ways. She always pretended to be happy, but you have more visible ups and downs. I always wondered what she was thinking, but I don’t wonder when I’m with you. The words are written all over your face.”
“If that’s the case, what am I thinking right now?”
Our emotions run parallel. We’re not at the same point at the same exact time.
I need us to intersect. I need to understand what he’s feeling … I need him to understand what I’m feeling.
His fingertip traces a line on my forehead, pushing a loose hair away from my eyes. “You’re scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Scared of making a decision you’ll regret for the rest of your life. I don’t want you to make the wrong choice.”
“I’ve already made my choice.”
He shakes his head. “No you haven’t. You still think about him—more than I’m comfortable with. I think we should cancel our date for tonight so you can decide what you really want to do. I can’t get any deeper in this until you’re sure.”
“Does being done with him mean I’m done with the project, too?”
“No,” he says. “But you have to agree to my terms. He already ruined one woman I loved; I can’t let him do it again.”
My anger boils up again. “Since you brought it up, and I’ve been waiting a long time to hear this. How did he ruin her? He obviously believes it himself, or he wouldn’t be in the position he’s in.”
“He didn’t protect her.”
“And you did?” I ask, feeling his grip on me loosen.
His arms fall to his sides. He stares like a stone statue—empty and emotionless. “Get out of my office.”
I lift my hands, but he backs away. “Maybe if you knew how to forgive, you could both move forward. It should never have gotten to this.”
“Leave.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I do. The rest of the day I spend every single second thinking about Pierce and every single minute trying to avoid him.
THE APARTMENT IS NOT HOW it was supposed to be when I got home. The light in Mallory’s room shines underneath the door; it’s not a scene I’m unfamiliar with.
I knock on the door.
“Come in!” he yells over the faint music.
Without hesitation, I step inside. I gasp as my eyes catch the single piece sitting on an easel in the corner. It’s serene with a certain beauty I’m not used to in his work.
“What is this?” I ask. “It’s beautiful.”
I pull my eyes away from the canvas and look into his swollen, red eyes. He’s staring back at me, but he might as well be hundreds of feet away. An ache begins in my throat; after everything he’s put me through, my heart is still tied to his. His sadness is mine. I feel every ounce of his pain.
And he feels it. His eyes well up with tears. He knows my heart hasn’t completely detached. As much as I don’t want it to, it’s always going to be hanging by an unbreakable string.
The only sound in the room is “Litost” by X Ambassadors. The melody only intensifies the hurt. I listen to the words—actually listen—realizing it could be our anthem. Our love is like a hole, and I don’t know if I will ever fully recover … ever climb out.
The art, though, the art isn’t about me. It’s too beautiful, too peaceful, too innocent. It reminds me of when I was a little girl, when the whole world was perfect through my eyes. It’s the opposite of anything I’ve ever seen Blake paint.
I see a tear spill down his cheek when I glance back over at him. I can’t take it—watching his pain—so I do what my heart tells me. Closing the gap between us, I wrap my arms tightly around him. He nestles his head in the crook of my neck, soaking my shirt with his sorrow. “Today was supposed to be her birthday,” he finally chokes, whimpering. “I just wish I could hold her.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, running my fingertips along his spine as my own tears fall. “It’s not your fault, Blake. You need to forgive yourself. She wouldn’t want you to hold this on your shoulders.”
“I would have done anything for her. I thought I’d done everything.”
“I know.”
We cling to each other like it’s somehow necessary for our survival. It may just be for his. After what could have been seconds, minutes, hours, I step back, holding his face in my hands. “You need to talk to someone. Do it for yourself. Do it for your future.”
“I have been,” he whispers, looking me straight in the eye. “This is the part I don’t like—I have to feel worse before I can feel better.”
I close my eyes, praying I’ll never regret the words that slip from my lips next. “I’m here for you. We’ll never be what we were, but I want to be here for you.”
He lowers his eyes and nods. “Can I have one thing?”
“What’s that?” I ask, biting down on my lower lip.
“Kiss me.”
“What?”
“Kiss me. I want to remember the taste of your lips. I want to—”
I shake my head. “I can’t. I—”
“Please,” he whispers, brushing his thumb along my lower lip. “Just kiss me.”
One more look at him and my resolve falls like the Berlin Wall. Wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, I press my lips to his. Neither of us pushes it further. It’s a transfer of emotion—maybe forgiveness, or goodbye. Maybe it’s comfort. Whatever it is, I’m selfish; I wanted this just as much as he did, but not for a second did I think about the ramifications it would have with him … or Pierce. To love one man complicates the heart, but two … there are no words for that.
Pierce. My chest tightens. Even after everything that happened earlier, I can’t do this to him. It’s innocent enough, but he wouldn’t see it that way.
I break away, moving back a few steps. “I can’t do this,” I cry.
“I’m sorry,” he says, staring up at the stark white ceiling.
“Don’t be,” I whisper, shaking my head. “In some way, we both needed that.”
He’s about to say something else when there’s a knock at the door. I start toward it; Blake is in no shape to deal with company.
Pierce stands on the other end of the peephole, staring down at the ground. The thought of not answering crosses my mind, but I’ve already done him wrong a time or two today.
“Hey,” I say, opening the door to him with a forced smile on my face. I didn’t expect to see him this weekend after how we left things earlier.
He holds up a bouquet of flowers. “I think I owe you an apology.”
I take them from his hands, bringing the fragrant red roses to my nose. “For what?”
“For blaming you for my problems—for his problems. I know you would never do anything to break my trust, and I need to stop treating you otherwise.”
There’s a pain in the back of my throat. In a way, I just proved him wrong, but I did it with the best intentions. “Pierce, he’s here. He’s staying in Mallory’s room for a couple of days.”
He looks over my shoulder, but the door is closed. Light still shines under it, and I wonder what he’s doing in there. Is he painting? Is he standing where I left him, staring at a blank wall? “Stay with me for the weekend. I can’t stand you being here alone with him.”
That’s when the real struggle begins. The one between doing what I should and doing what I want. I should stay here—make sure that Blake is okay, but I want to disappear with Pierce.
“Can you wait outside?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.
He groans, eyes burning a hole through Mallory’s closed door.
“I don’t want any drama tonight. Please … just wait downstairs. I’ll pack a bag and be right out.”
He hesitates. I know this isn’t easy for him, and it’s not a picnic for me either. He nods. “Okay. I’ll
give you five minutes, but then I’m coming back up.”
“Nice compromise, Stanley.”
He smiles. “I’m working on it.”
As soon as he’s gone, I throw a few things in a bag and slip on a pair of shoes. I’m about to leave when I hear a crash in Mallory’s bedroom.
I open the door to find Blake curled in a ball on the center of the bed. I want to run to him—hold him—but I need to draw the line.
“I’m leaving for the weekend,” I announce from the doorway.
“He deserves you.”
“What do you mean?”
“As much as I hate him, he’s a good guy. He’ll protect you in ways I’ll never be able to.”
Before I close the door, I say, “I am still here for you if you need anything.”
As the door closes, I swear I hear him say “All I need is you” but I block it out, convincing myself that it was just my imagination playing tricks.
Pierce is leaning against a gray sports car when I step outside. He grins, and I can’t help but return it. When we are close enough to touch, he wraps his arms tightly around me, forcing me to drop my bag. He pulls me into a kiss making my whole body melt into him. He teases—licking then tugging, pulling me even closer. My arms curl around his neck as he leans me back to blaze a trail of kisses along my throat.
“We should go,” I pant, the warmth between my legs almost unbearable.
He reaches back, opening the passenger door for me without breaking the mood. He turns us around, slowly letting me go so I can sink into the seat.
His small car moves quickly down the barren streets, his hand resting on my upper thigh through every turn. I want so badly for him to curl his fingers between my legs, to make everything better.
The car whizzes into a packed parking garage, winding up to the third floor before pulling into a spot next to the elevator. “We’re home,” he announces, opening his door. Mine is open before I even get a chance to find the knob. He grabs my hand in his while holding my bag in the other.
The elevator closes, and he pulls me in for a kiss.
Then another when we exit in the hallway outside his door.
And again after placing his key in the lock.
As soon as we’re safely inside, my back is against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist as his lips caress from my collarbone to the exposed skin above my breasts.
“Pierce, please,” I beg, kissing no longer enough to satisfy my desires.
“Tell me exactly what you want. I need to hear you say it.” He pins my arms above my head, taking away all my control.
“I need you, Pierce. I need to know that everything is okay. I need to know we’re okay.”
He moves both my wrists to one hand, using the other to push my skirt up to my waist. I hear his zipper then seconds later, he’s inside me, filling me until it hurts.
His lips capture mine, and I give him everything—my heart, my mind, my soul. When we’re like this, he’s all I think about … he’s all I want.
He thrusts.
I whimper.
He swallows my screams. He finally releases my arms, and I hold on to him for dear life as I clench around him. “Oh God, Pierce. That feels so good.” My body trembles as I come down from the high.
Holding me tightly, he whispers, “I love you.” Over and over again.
“I love you, too,” I say when I catch my breath.
He carries me through the dark apartment, down a narrow hall that leads to a massive bedroom with windows overlooking the city. It’s the kind of view I always had in my city dreams.
Lowering me to my feet, he carefully undresses me, letting my clothes fall onto the plush rug in front of his bed. The city lights are the only things illuminating the room, but I still see the way he looks at me. It’s the way I’ve always wanted a man to look at me; something in his eyes tells me he would give up everything to stay with me, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.
He makes love to me—slow and tender—and it’s not until after, when I’m wrapped in his arms that I wonder if he tasted him on me.
And, it’s only then that I think about him again. My life is a merry-go-round; I’m not sure which direction I’ll be looking when it finally stops.
As I drift off, the spinning slows, and all I see is that painting.
A WEEKEND TUCKED AWAY in Pierce’s apartment was just what I needed, and as we pull up in front of my apartment on Sunday night, I’m not ready for it to be over.
I learned that he cooks just as well as he makes love. He likes staying in and cuddling on the couch with a movie. He literally checks off every box I had and some I didn’t know I had.
Friday may not have been a good day for us, but I look at it as another sign this is all going to work out. We can fight then make up, and then the next day it’s like it never even happened.
“So, I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”
I lean in to kiss him. “Of course.”
“Don’t ever think about taking another job,” he whispers against my lips.
“Don’t ever think about taking another girlfriend,” I chide back.
He presses his lips to mine. “Never.”
Our relationship skipped the pace of a freight train and went straight for jet speed. It should scare me, but we sat side by side for months before the key was even put in the ignition.
“See you tomorrow, Stanley.”
“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”
I pucker my lips as if I’m deep in thought. “Hmm, probably not. I like having a man whose last name could be his first.”
“Stanley makes me sound less than—”
“Sexy?”
He laughs. “I think that’s what I was trying to say.” As I climb out of his car, he does the same, grabbing my bag from the trunk. “Do you want me to walk you in?”
“It would probably be better if you didn’t.”
“I still don’t like him being here,” he says, running his long fingers through his hair.
Wrapping my arms tightly around his waist, I stare up into his eyes. “The other night, before you came to the apartment, we talked. He said you’re a good guy … that you deserve me.”
“What?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
“He let me go.”
His gaze wanders left to right, studying the few people who walk along the sidewalk. “Don’t be so sure. You’re not an easy woman to let go.”
“But you trust me?”
He looks back down at me. “Yes.”
“Then, you have nothing to worry about.”
After one last kiss, he watches me walk away and disappear inside the apartment building.
I’ve been honest with both men; my heart lies open on my sleeve now. It’s clear where I need to be even if it’s not always easy.
When I open the apartment door, Blake sits on the couch with a beer in his hand. It’s a familiar sight. “What did you do all weekend?” I ask, setting my bag on one of the dining room chairs.
“You’re looking at it,” he replies, his attention fixed on a basketball game.
“Have you eaten?”
He gestures toward the kitchen. “There’s leftover pizza and Chinese in the fridge. I went all out this weekend.”
I want to ask so badly how he’s doing, but I hold back. It goes over the line I’m trying not to cross.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks, bringing his beer bottle to his lips.
I shrug. “I think I’m just going to read a book Reece gave me. It’s been a long week, and I just need to unwind.”
After a few seconds of silence, I walk away, bringing my overnight bag in the bedroom and changing into a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. I wash my face and put my glasses on, ready for a night of books, tea, and quiet. It really doesn’t get any better than that.
I’m six pages in when there’s a soft knock on my door; he doesn’t wait for me to answer before walking in. “What are you doing?” he asks. He
walks toward me in gray athletic shorts and a white tank; it’s distracting, especially when you know what’s under them.
I glance at the cover of the book then look back up. “It looks like I’m reading.”
“Can we talk?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
“About?”
He laughs nervously. “I just need to talk … to take my mind off the path it’s currently on.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I can’t go anywhere too deep tonight, still feeling emotionally drained from the last week. Then an idea hits, and I smile. “Do you remember when we played Truth?”
He nods, a smile pulling at his lips. Those damn lips.
“Why don’t we play that?”
“I’ll grab the tequila.”
Before I can argue that tomorrow is a workday, he’s gone. I kind of forgot about the tequila part. He returns with a bottle of Jose, a shot glass and a bowl of lime slices. I’m screwed.
“Who gets to go first?” he asks, sitting on the other side of the bed.
“Me,” I answer. I have so many questions.
He nods, pouring the first shot of tequila.
“Where have you been the last few months?”
“I went to Europe like I said I was going to, but that only lasted a couple weeks. I was such a mess, so I ended up checking into a facility in California. I was there until just a few weeks ago.”
My gaze falls to the liquor bottle.
“My treatment had nothing to do with addiction,” he answers, running his finger across my white comforter. “I checked in for depression. It was ruining me.” He pauses, looking over at me with dark intensity in his eyes. “I realized I was losing everything good in my life—the things that still existed because I couldn’t let go of the things that didn’t.”
There he goes making me feel guilty about moving on again. I couldn’t wait forever, not when someone so perfect had waited long enough. “I’m happy for you … that you decided to get help, but I hope you did it for yourself, too.”
He smiles sadly. “After everything I’ve done, some days I’m all I have.”
