Hearts and Thorns

by Ella Fields

  Dropping the scrunched napkin, I set down my tea, the cup shaking the saucer. My stomach began to quake, and I knew I’d swallowed about all I could handle for now. “I need to go.”

  “At least think about it.”

  It wasn’t even Thanksgiving, and though I would think about it, I was reluctant to give her anything else today. With a nod, I plucked up my purse, and I left.

  Inside my car, I traced the picture I’d carried everywhere with me.

  From Victoria’s wallet to mine, Sara’s smiling face was transported, tucked away beneath folds of leather.

  I wasn’t sure why, when I spoke of her with Dad, Flo, and Dennis, I still called her Sara. Perhaps it was because, even if she was my biological mom, I already had one of those.

  Looking at the house, the lights draped from the windows, the tree visible in the large arched window of the formal living room, I pondered whether I could do this.

  “It’s just Christmas,” Dennis had said.

  “Shut up.” Flo had shoved him. “Text me. I’ll call you and then you can say you’d forgotten you were supposed to have dessert with me.”

  Flo was spending Christmas with Dennis and his family. Now that her great-aunt was gone, her parents had left the cove and were traveling around the country with their inheritance.

  Slipping the photo away, I checked my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks had pinked from the cold, and I hadn’t done much to my hair, which now sat beneath my shoulders. My eyes were bright circles, my lashes bare of mascara.

  I couldn’t bring myself to care much about makeup, though I did make some effort with my clothes. Climbing out of the car, I pulled down my red sweater and tugged up my black skinny jeans, my ankle boots losing traction on the rain dusted driveway.

  Carefully, I moved to the door, shivering as I rang the doorbell.

  Victoria opened it, a huge smile lifting her cheeks and eyes. “Willa.” Before I could say hello, I was drawn into a tight hug, one of her hands petting my hair. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick.

  Nodding, I pulled away, then offered the gift bag filled with gift cards and baked goods.

  “You needn’t have worried. You should save your money for that shop of yours.”

  “It’s doing fine,” I said, meaning it. I could stand to raise my prices a little higher, but I was making enough to keep us afloat, pay my debts, and save a tiny amount.

  “Good, come in.” She grabbed my arm, tugging me into warmth. “It’s freezing out. Where’s your coat?”

  “In the car.” I kicked off my boots, my fuzzy pink socks slippery over the hardwood. “Where is everyone?”

  “Family room. I should’ve put the tree there, but I like—”

  “How it looks from the front window,” I finished for her, my smile wane. “I know.”

  Smiling, she led the way, and I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

  I knew they’d be here and still the sight of them together on the couch, Ainsley fussing over Jackson’s new sweater, the annoyed slant of his jaw, still clawed at my insides.

  I hadn’t heard from him. I hadn’t seen him. Nothing.

  It’d been two months, and it wasn’t that I’d expected him to have a sudden change of heart after what’d happened, but I had expected the boy who’d once been my friend to see if I was okay.

  I should’ve known his stubborn streak ran far deeper than any of us knew.

  He didn’t so much as smile, just jerked his head, then returned his attention to the game on TV.

  Ainsley smiled, but it was insincere, to say the least.

  That was fine, for mine was probably similar. “Merry Christmas,” I said, turning to find Heath. He was at the dining table, glasses on as he pored over the pages spread before him. “Hi.”

  Tearing his glasses off, he looked up, his eyes lighting. “Willa, Merry Christmas.”

  I walked over, offering a brief hug, and eyed his leg, which was no longer in a cast, but sat in what looked to be a sore heap beneath the table. “What are you doing?”

  “Just checking next fall’s helmets.”

  “Isn’t that Jackson’s job now?” I untucked the chair next to his, taking a seat.

  Smiling sheepishly, he nodded. “I’m just looking.”

  “Uh-huh.” I grinned. “How’s the leg?”

  His eyes seemed to dull. “Ah, pretty useless. I’ve just started rehab.”

  I nodded. “I hear it gets easier.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

  We settled in to eat ten minutes later, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed Victoria’s cooking until I took my first bite of slow roasted pork and homemade gravy.

  I ate in silence, fielding any questions that came my way but mostly just listening.

  Conversation with Heath and Jackson was stilted, not that Heath didn’t try. Unless it concerned work, Jackson approached any subject with such boredom that Heath didn’t stand a chance at receiving anything but cold, hard detachment.

  Ainsley talked about her job at the preschool, the upcoming trip she and Jackson were taking with her parents, and their plans for New Year’s.

  As soon as she mentioned the trip, I began mentally categorizing all the items I needed to order for the bakery on Monday.

  Unscathed, and feeling like I should leave so I could remain that way, I rose from the table before dessert was served, explaining that Dennis and Flo were expecting me.

  Victoria beamed. “Oh, take some for them.”

  I said my goodbyes to Heath, muttered one to Jackson and Ainsley, then waited as Victoria cut up some fruit cake and set it in a Tupperware container. I gave her a brief hug before saying I’d see myself out.

  “Your presents.” Victoria flitted to the front room and handed me two heavy gift bags. “I wish I could’ve seen you open them.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, guilt a little nudge at my full stomach.

  She gave me a hopeful smile. “Just… tell me we’ll talk soon?”

  “Yeah,” I said, meaning it. “I’ll call you, okay?”

  She flicked her hand. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Opening the trunk, I tucked the cake in the corner where it wouldn’t roll around, sandwiching it with the presents, then almost screamed as I closed it.

  Jackson’s lip curled. “Leaving so soon?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Now if you would be so kind…” I gestured to my car door, which he was blocking.

  His nose twitched as he chuckled. “Just like that.”

  “Just like what?”

  “You give in. You give up so easily with everything.”

  I felt my brows pucker. “What are you talking about?”

  “You find out your mother isn’t actually your mother, and two months later, you’re having Christmas dinner with the very same woman.” Prowling closer, his eyes flitted over my face. “You cheat on your boyfriend, and then you hide away until he leaves town for good.”

  “Jackson,” I said, sticking my hand out, feeling the rough fabric of his coat.

  “You had me,” he said, voice gentle, deceptively so. “You had me eating out of the palm of your hand, and you just let me run off.” His head lowered, warm breath washing over my lips and cheek. “All. Over. Again.”

  My fists balled, my eyes stinging. “You don’t know anything.”

  “I know you, and you’re the same as you’ve always been,” he said, voice heated and dark. “Weak.”

  “I’m not weak,” I said through gritted teeth.

  His chuckle singed my skin, the rapidly beating idiot in my chest. “Your actions say differently. You stand for nothing, Willa Grace. You refuse to fight for anything.”

  “There’s a difference,” I said, my chin lifting, our lips an exhale apart, “between fighting and picking your battles.”

  He hummed. “So true. So,” he whispered, taunting, “are you going to fight for what you want, Willa? Or will you submit to the idea of a future without
me all over again?”

  “You’re engaged.”

  “Exactly.” He floated back, his eyes daring, and his hands tucked inside his coat pockets. The searing wind caught and fluttered it as he headed back to the house.

  Exactly.

  For days, his words had cooked up a storm inside my head. Gone was the misery that usually accompanied thoughts of him, and in its place, a fury born of frustration and disbelief took hold.

  Who he thought he was, I didn’t know, but I was sick and tired of the whiplash.

  “Hey, whoa,” Flo said, taking the bowl from me. “Sufficiently mixed, my friend.” She peered inside, making a face. “Or dead, maybe.”

  “Ugh.” I ripped off my apron and marched to the coffee machine.

  “That’s your third one this morning,” Dennis said.

  Flo pointed out, “And you stopped drinking coffee months ago.”

  Groaning, I spun around, glaring at my two friends. “Can I not be in a mood without everyone pointing out that I’m in a mood?”

  “You’re in a mood,” they both said, then snickered.

  Digging my hands into my hair, I filled up my lungs, then sent air out with, “I’m taking the day off.”

  “Oh, thank god.” Dennis raised his hands heavenward.

  Flo bit her lips, her eyes laughing. “Get gone, cranky one.”

  I flipped them off, their cackles chasing me out the bakery door.

  I didn’t bother slipping into something sexy. I didn’t even bother checking my reflection in the car. It wasn’t until I’d crossed town, parked out on the street, and asked the receptionist to see Jackson that what I was doing began to sink in.

  Like a weighted brick in the stomach, my nerves ignited, and my racing heart began to pound a slow and sluggish beat.

  The receptionist eyed me over the counter, the phone pressed to her ear, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. As she hung up the phone, perusing me none too subtly, she said, “Top floor. He’s expecting you.”

  Nodding, I thanked her and made my way to the elevator behind her desk.

  The emergency exit beckoned, its bright light tempting me to throw this stupid idea down the toilet and hit flush. For it wasn’t really an idea.

  It was a reckless, spontaneous act of defiance.

  Are you going to fight for what you want, Willa?

  The doors dinged, and I steeled my shoulders. I had no idea if what I was doing could even be considered fighting. In fact, I grew increasingly disgusted with myself as the elevator doors closed and carried me up to the lion’s den.

  He was engaged. He was engaged, yet he was goading me. Why? Jackson had always had a mean streak. He could be cruel, but he knew the difference between right and wrong, and was well versed in every shade of gray.

  This, though, whatever this was he was playing at, was too dark to blend into any blurred lines.

  “Finally, I’m starving.” His first words to me as the door opened pulled me up short, every insult and question I’d wanted to hurl at him disintegrating.

  Peering around the huge, sleek room, I felt the door close at my back, and slowly crossed to where his desk sat, front and center, before the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. “I didn’t bring any food.”

  Meeting his gaze was a mistake. Undoing the top buttons of his dress shirt, he grinned, all predator, no mercy in sight. “But you did. Come here.”

  The haze that settled over his eyes, the speed in which my heart began to race, and the way his teeth sank into his lip, made me pause. “I didn’t come here for that.”

  “Well, I’m afraid my tolerance for chitchat has been exceeded today.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  His head flopped to the side, his chuckle silent. “And you’re making me so hard it hurts, even with gunk on your cheek.” My hand reached up, and he tutted. “Come here. I won’t fucking bite.”

  As if I could control it. I never could.

  I was before him in seconds, a squeak escaping as he deposited me on his desk, and then licked his thumb.

  Trapped within his punishing gaze, I watched, my stomach warming and dipping as he dragged his wet thumb over my cheek, then popped it in his mouth. “Chocolate chip.”

  “I murdered it.”

  His brows jumped. “Interesting. Lie down.”

  “What?”

  With a gentle push of my shoulders, I was tipping back, catching myself on my elbows, papers scrunching beneath me.

  “Feet up on the desk.”

  When I didn’t move quick enough, he lifted my legs, positioning them where he wanted them, and then he tugged my panties aside.

  I gasped as cool air hit slick flesh and heard a low curse before hot silk was traveling through me, sucking and licking.

  My elbows went lax, and I ended up on my back, gazing up at the checkered white ceiling with its fancy light fixtures.

  Within a minute, maybe less, my hips began to rock, and I felt his laughter rumble against me.

  I came apart, shattered into splinters that imbedded in my chest, pricking and stabbing.

  Vaguely, I registered the sound of a fly being unzipped, and then I was being hauled up and helped off the desk to the floor.

  Dizzy from the euphoria that was slow to leave, and a sense of shame that hugged so tight, it became hard to breathe, I lost the desire to please him.

  He didn’t care, or he didn’t notice. His cock nudged at my mouth, thick, long and so hard. Closing my eyes, I reached out and grabbed it, then opened my mouth.

  Giving Jackson head was something I adored. The ability to render him a needy, cursing, mess, to cause his legs and lungs to shudder, made me feel powerful. Pleasuring him made me feel important, irreplaceable.

  But as I sucked and bobbed my head, I felt nothing. Only the growing slime of shame that worsened with every harsh breath he expelled.

  “I’m a taken man; you’re going to have to work harder than that.”

  At those words, I choked, and he groaned, fucking my mouth. I let him, and I swallowed as a collection of throaty curses fogged the stifling air.

  The sweet and sour taste of him eroded over my tongue, taking its time to disappear down my throat. Falling to my ass, I sat on the floor as he grabbed some tissues from his desk and cleaned himself up.

  “You can go now.”

  My head snapped up from where I’d been staring at his dress shoes, wondering if Ainsley had picked them out. It finally clicked, and that insidious old and new friend of mine, shame, laughed and threatened to send his semen back up my throat. “You never wanted me to make it up to you. To fight.”

  “To be honest, I really couldn’t give a shit what you do.”

  Though those words might’ve sounded honest, I knew he didn’t mean them, not entirely. Still, I now knew his game, and every hateful word was part of it.

  “You’re doing this on purpose.” Grabbing the desk, I used it to assist my shaking legs to stand. “You have no intention of marrying her, do you? And all you’re doing is messing with me. You’re just trying to hurt us both.”

  We’d both betrayed him.

  We’d both destroyed this idea he’d had in his head. That if you loved someone, truly loved them, then you remained perfect. For anything less than wasn’t true love.

  “Nothing is perfect, Jackson. Nothing. People fuck up and make mistakes. You, especially, have made many of them.” I refused to cry. I wasn’t even sure if I could. But somehow, that made it worse. There was no release for the poison that was now multiplying inside me.

  There was no way to rid myself of this bad day.

  “It’s probably a bad time to say this.” Jackson wiped his bottom lip, eyes finally finding mine, and licked his thumb. “But your cunt tastes even better with age.”

  Rage funneled through me, fast and all consuming.

  Walking behind his desk, I grabbed his chin, hissing, “Unless we’re seated at a table with our fucked-up family, don’t talk to me, don’t even look at me.” H
is smirk slowly slipped as I continued. “I hope you feasted enough for a lifetime because you won’t be touching me again.” My eyes flicked between his, hatred and revulsion causing my thumbnail to pierce his skin.

  I shoved him away, my flats eating the floor in quick strides.

  “Willa, don’t walk away from me.”

  “Shut up.” I flung my middle finger over my shoulder, then opened the door. “You fucking disgust me.”

  “Bug, fucking stop—” The closing door cut him off.

  I dived into the elevator and hit the first floor button repeatedly, Jackson jogging out of his office.

  Keeping my finger on the door close button, his vivid eyes disappeared as they collided.

  Jackson

  The wind had picked up her hair, twirled it, then resettled it over her hunched shoulders. As if it’d decided not to bother her.

  After sitting with her, I’d watched from one of the many exits, watched and waited until she’d climbed inside her car, and only then did I do the same and drive home.

  There was something about seeing someone’s world split apart that made you forget the pain, the memories, and the ache, long enough to remember. To remember who that someone was to you, at your core, even if they were no longer that person.

  She’d always been my person, and now, once again, her world had exploded. The bleak tone of her voice, the defeated set of her shoulders, and the spirit that’d departed her once lustrous eyes, caused a multitude of conflicted feelings.

  So, I’d watched—I was always watching—not that she knew, as she’d slowly pulled on the tattered seams of herself, studied the new pieces, and began to make something with them.

  You fucking disgust me.

  Such strength in horrific words. Such venomous accuracy. I was still trying to extract the barbs from my chest.

  “Don’t turn into me,” a gruff voice muttered.

  Looking up from the contracts in my lap, I found Dad’s heavy-lidded eyes on me. “I would never.”

  He held my gaze and didn’t flinch, just nodded, seemed to take some kind of comfort in my honesty. “Have you spoken to Willa?”