by KV Rose
“We’re not them.” His voice is almost stern. “We don’t have to repeat our parents’ mistakes. I sure as shit will be nothing like my father. Or your father.”
My heart feels heavy, and I feel tears prick behind my eyes, but I force them back.
“You think I’ll leave you because he left you. You think you’ll leave me because your mother leaves. But you’re not like that, and I’m not like that.”
“Alex,” I say, my lip trembling, “I am exactly like that.”
He shakes his head, squeezing my hand. “I told you, Zara. I see you. I see what you can’t. You aren’t like that. Not at your core. Not in your heart. You’re so much more. You have scars, like we all do, and yeah, you’re pretty damn chaotic and wild and kind of insane.” He smiles, and I do too, even though my lip is still trembling. “But you are so beautiful, too. So fucking beautiful, inside and out. And you’re funny and kind and your recklessness makes you interesting. And you deserve love, Zara. Whether you believe it or not, you deserve it.”
I’m holding my breath as he leans in closer, his brow to mine.
“I see you. And I think you see me, too, yeah?”
I nod, biting my lip to hold back my tears. I do see him. He’s nothing like the asshole jock he pretends to be. And I don’t even know if he ever pretended to be that, or if his temper just gets the best of him sometimes like my loneliness and awkwardness and need to be loved gets the best of me.
“And call me crazy, which I know is usually your thing, but I’m pretty damn sure I’m falling in love with you all over again.”
I can’t breathe. He picks his head up, presses his warm, soft lips to mine. It’s a gentle kiss, but when he runs his tongue over the seam of my mouth and I open for him, it changes. It’s not rough or hard but it’s possessive.
He lets go of my hand, pushes my shoulder so I’m lying on my back. Not breaking away from our kiss, he positions himself on top of me, hands on either side of my head, knees either side of my hips.
His tongue swirls around mine, and I slide my hands over his back, feeling his strength, his hot, smooth skin.
“Fuck that,” he says against my mouth, pulling away for a second. “I know I’m falling in love with you. All fucking over again.” He kisses me again, one hand going to the waistband of my shorts. He yanks them down and I move my hips to help him, pushing the material off with my foot when they get to my ankles.
He breaks away again, licks a line down the column of my throat as I arch my neck. He shoves up my shirt, biting at my stomach, running his hand over my breasts, first one, then the other.
And then he’s between my thighs, lifting one leg over his shoulder, pushing my knee to the side with the other hand, spreading me wide.
“Alex,” I murmur, running my fingers through his hair.
His breath is against my pussy. “Shh.” His hand trails up from my knee to my inner thigh. And then he runs his tongue up my slit and I gasp. It’s the first physical thing, aside from anger and frustration and exhaustion, that I’ve felt in days.
“You like that, princess?” he asks me, his words sending shivers down my spine.
I can only murmur my answer because he doesn’t wait for one. Instead, he flicks his tongue over my clit, and then his hand leaves my thigh and he pushes two fingers inside of me. My grip on his hair tightens as he fingers me, licks me, fucking lavishes me.
I’m a bundle of pent-up energy and nerves, and he knows exactly what I need.
His tongue works me faster as I get closer, his fingers, too, and when I come, I cry out his name, yanking on his hair so hard, I’m surprised he doesn’t complain but, in the moment, I don’t really care.
He doesn’t stop until I’m gasping, nearly begging him to let me breathe. My chest rises and falls rapidly, my heart pounding so fast I can hear it in my head.
He gives me one last, slow lick that makes me squirm, and then he’s crawling over my body, pushing down his shorts and tossing them on the floor. I can feel his cock against my thigh as he cradles my head in his hands, boxing me in beneath him, in what seems like a protective way.
Or maybe I just think that because I feel a rush of gratitude toward him. I feel high off that orgasm.
“You ready, princess?” he asks me, kissing my mouth. I taste myself on him and it drives me fucking wild.
I nod, not wanting to break our kiss.
He reaches down between us, guides his thick cock to my wet entrance. Then he pushes into me and my toes curl. I wrap my legs around his back as he slides all the way in, groaning.
“Fuck,” he says through gritted teeth, his mouth still against mine as he thrusts slowly in and out of me. “You are so damn tight.”
I drag my nails lightly down his back. “Or maybe you’re just really, really big.”
He pauses, staring down at me, brushing a lock of hair from my eyes. “You think so?”
I nod, biting my lip.
“And how do you feel about having my really, really big dick inside of you?” he teases me, pulling halfway out.
“I—”
I don’t get to finish because then he slams it back into me and the words turn into a moan as I bury my head against his shoulder.
“Yeah?” he asks. “I didn’t hear you, princess. What was that?”
I wrap my legs tighter around him, gasping as he thrusts into me again, filling me up. “I—I—”
He fucks me harder, one hand going to my throat as he pulls back from me to stare down at me. “You what, baby?” He doesn’t choke me, but that possessive touch around my neck makes me wetter, and I clench my muscles around his cock, and this time, he’s the one groaning.
“Goddamn,” he says through clenched teeth. “If you keep doing that this is going to end a lot sooner than I’d like.”
I smile up at him and he leans down, kissing me with an open mouth.
“I fucking love you, Zara,” he says against my mouth, then he licks my lips, down my chin, his fingers still around my throat.
My mind is spinning, and I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if he meant it or if he’s just feeling really good or… “I love you, too.”
He pauses, his eyes wide as he pulls back to look at me.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
And then he thrusts into me again and I’m lost in a wave of sensation. Not just my body. My mind is wandering. Did I mean that?
Did he?
His eyes close tight as he comes inside of me, groaning my name.
He’s breathing hard and my legs loosen around him, my knees falling to the side as he comes to rest on top of me, still inside of me. He’s heavy, and I can hardly breathe, but he wraps his arms around my back, holding me so tight I don’t care if I can breathe or not. I don’t want him to let go of me.
Slowly, he lifts his hips and slides out of me.
“Did you mean it?” he asks me after a moment, rolling off me and pulling me to his chest again. The inside of my thighs are sticky and even though he did all the work, I’m a sweaty fucking mess.
“Did you?” I counter. “You said it first.”
He laughs, his body vibrating beneath me. “Clever girl.”
“Well,” I ask, spent and finally exhausted in body and mind, ready to drift off into sleep right here in his arms, “did you?”
He sighs, contentment in the sound. “Yeah.” He laughs again, a deep, boyish chuckle that makes me feel good all over. “I did.”
I swallow down my emotions. Down what might happen in the morning. At the end of this week. Next week. Next semester. When we graduate. I swallow all of that shit down and live in the moment.
“Me too. I meant it too.”
He holds me closer, tighter, and I close my eyes, sighing in his arms.
“I’ll always take care of you, princess. Not just this week. Not just while you deal with this shit. Always.”
I don’t know if I believe him, but I don’t know if I care, either. In the moment, it’s e
nough.
44
Zara
Our week ends early, and I know Alex is torn about it.
Yesterday, Thursday, we went to see a movie. Some stupid action shit with a bunch of car chases and spectacular crashes and a loosely developed plotline that I couldn’t give a damn about. But Alex liked it, and I liked sharing popcorn and cookie dough bites with him in the nearly empty theater.
We spent the day having sex and drinking orange juice and eating more bacon—I’m fucking sick of bacon—and then we fell asleep tangled up in each other all over again.
But this morning, his mom called, and she needs him to come to a meeting with her lawyer over some shit with his dad. The divorce is messy, and his dad is pissed because a divorced preacher isn’t one that can really lead a church. At least, that’s what Pastor Cardi thinks.
Alex tried to resolve the issue over the phone, but his mom was insistent.
He comes out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair, steam billowing out after him. His jaw is clenched, and I see that familiar anger in the hard lines of his face, the furrow of his brow. He turns back, throws the towel on the counter of the bathroom and stares at me, another towel wrapped around his waist.
His abs are truly a thing to behold. If I had to become addicted to a part of his body, it would either be those, or his dick. Probably his dick, which I can see the outline of even beneath his towel, even though I think he’s not hard right now. Considering we had sex just this morning, before we brushed our teeth or rolled out of bed, I’m not surprised.
But just thinking about having sex with him again gets me all worked up and I know he has to go so I tear my eyes away from him, looking at the three empty glasses on my nightstand instead. They’re sticky around the top with residue from the orange juice, and I’m grateful he bought a few cartons of it last night after the movie.
I don’t know if there’s science behind OJ helping with addiction, but damn, it seems to be helping me.
“Look, Za, seriously, you can come with me. It won’t be a big deal.”
I keep staring at the empty glasses, my legs swinging off the bed, my hands in my lap. “It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m having dinner with my mom tonight anyway. If I feel crappy, I’ll stay with her.” I mean, fat fucking chance, but maybe.
“I just hate leaving you like this.”
I cross my legs at the ankle. If he had told me that a few days ago, I would have laughed in his face. Maybe given him the middle finger to make my point. But now? I hate him leaving me like this too. Full of warm-fuzzy feelings that I haven’t felt from something other than drugs in a long, long time. Part of me is worried that he’s the new addiction. That despite our declarations of love, mine was only because I was feeling high from his orgasm, and his was only because…I don’t know. Maybe he meant it.
But then again, maybe he didn’t. Maybe we didn’t mean what we said at all. Maybe we aren’t ready to love yet.
But despite knowing that, it doesn’t stop my heart from aching at the thought of him walking out of my apartment today.
He tilts my chin up, forcing my gaze from the orange juice glasses to his big brown eyes. “Princess.”
I swallow past the dryness in my throat, try to smile up at him, but it feels like it comes out more like a grimace.
“Yeah?”
“You promise you’ll be good?”
I don’t know if he means “good” as in, I won’t do drugs or “good” as in, I’ll be okay. Either way, I nod, his fingers still under my chin. “I promise.” I smile again, and this time it feels more real. He’s so damn hot, it’s kind of easy to fake that smile.
He leans down and kisses me, like we do it all the time. Like it’s nothing. Like my lips belong to him. And even though it feels commonplace, because it is, it’s become natural for us to touch that way, it still leaves me breathless, especially as he runs his thumb over my bottom lip before he drops his hand to get dressed.
Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave.
My mind is screaming it, but I won’t say it. It’s true that I do have dinner with Mom, and it’s a beautiful fall day. I can go outside, for a walk or a hike. I can even call Kylie if I start feeling too low. I can call him too, if I need to. He’s already told me as much.
But it doesn’t make it hurt any less when he throws his arms around me and picks me up in the doorway of my apartment after he’s all packed and ready and smelling so damn good.
It doesn’t hurt any less when he says, “I love you, princess,” against my ear and kisses my neck and doesn’t put me down until he’s squeezed the fucking breath out my lungs.
And I tell him I love him, too. And maybe I do. Maybe I do, I remind myself.
I watch him from the doorway as he walks down the steps, his gym bag over his shoulder. When he turns back to wave at me, my stomach flutters as he runs back over, kisses me again, slinging an arm around my neck.
And I laugh as he leaves, for real this time, and I laugh again when he honks the horn of his Jeep and tosses his hand out the window.
And then he’s gone. And the darkness settles in again. The loneliness.
My phone is still in my drawer beside my bed and I need to charge it and get in touch with Mom, but I kind of don’t want to because it would be so easy to thumb through my texts and shoot Jax one. He’d probably deny me and I can’t take that.
I shut the door to the apartment, lock it, and head off down the hall to the shower. It still smells like Alex. My entire room does, and it makes my heart hurt.
It’s so fucking stupid. He promised he’d be back as soon as he could. Probably tomorrow, he said. If not, definitely the day after.
Promises, promises.
I can’t keep them, but that doesn’t mean he has the same problem.
I decide to fuck the shower and sink into a bubble bath instead, closing my eyes as I lie back against the tile.
The sound of the water makes me feel at peace. I think about the waves of the ocean, without thinking about that shitty beach party. I think about what it would be like to live at the coast with Alex. Maybe we could even have an outdoor part of our gym. Maybe I could be an example to young girls. Maybe he could help boys from broken home, and we could save lives instead of destroying our own.
Maybe Eli Addison will be a distant memory and the horrible things he and I have done won’t come back to haunt me.
I let myself dream, just for a little while. Because when I open my eyes again, it’ll all slip away and the reality of who I am and what I’ve done will come back to crush me.
I’m not even sure Jesus Christ himself would truly forgive someone like me. And Alex doesn’t have the heart of the son of God, so I know he definitely won’t. No matter what he says, I don’t think he meant it.
He can’t love me.
I’m too broken for that.
It was nice though. While it lasted, it was nice.
45
Zara
“You look great,” Mom tells me, picking at her salad. “Less…tired,” she finishes with, eyeing me as she drops her fork, giving up. I don’t blame her. It’s a fucking garden salad without dressing. At a restaurant in Falls Creek, just a little bit away from Caven, known for its pulled pork.
I think she picked the wrong place to diet at. Of course, Mom doesn’t need to diet. She just does. She always has.
I look at my own burger that I’ve taken two bites out of. But my orange juice is drained, and even though Mom looked at me like I was high when I ordered it, it was damn good.
I play with the paper napkin in my lap. “Thanks.”
She leans back in the rickety wooden chair, tilting her head as she eyes me. Her big blue eyes are full of something like suspicion, and if she accuses me of being on drugs right now, I might throw this napkin to the damn floor and walk right out.
But she doesn’t.
She accuses me of something worse.
“Zara Rose Henderson,” she chides me, but there’s s
omething playful in her words. She leans forward, her hand on the table, and I see her wedding ring glinting in the lights overhead, the gold band etched with roses, pretty on her slender, manicured fingers. “Are you in love?”
My mouth falls open, and I ball the napkin up in my hand. What the actual fuck?
She smiles, small little wrinkles pulling at the crease of her eyes. She tosses back her shiny blonde hair, sitting up straighter and giving me a self-satisfied smirk. “I knew it. You are.” She sighs, blinking at me. “Well, go on. Who is he? God knows you’ve had to deal with a whole hoard of men from me, so I think I should at least get the lucky guy’s name.” She shrugs her shoulders, the tan sleeves of her silk blouse bunching up a little as she does. “Is it that boy you brought to the engagement party?” She narrows her eyes. “The one with the tattoos?”
I feel sick just thinking about him. “I’m not in love,” I manage to say, way too fucking late.
She stares at me, a scowl on her face. “Come on, Zara. Don’t lie to me. I’m your mother.” She smiles, and it’s genuine for once which is kind of weird since it’s directed at me. All I’ve done the past few years is disappoint her. Probably get in the way of her love life. “And obviously, I know a thing or two about love. Or how to fuck it up.”
My eyes go wide, jaw dropping. She just made a self-deprecating joke. She just said the F word. Is this my mother? Has she always been like this and I was just too high to see it?
I laugh, shaking my head a little, relaxing into my seat.
The waitress comes bustling over, glancing at our still-full plates. “Still workin’ on that?”
My mom doesn’t break eye contact with me, as if she’s willing this moment to stick. “Yes,” she says curtly, and I hear the waitress kind of huff at my mother’s tone—and probably the fact that my mother looks a little like a bitch—but she walks away without another word.
“I know,” Mom says suddenly, tapping her nails on the wooden table. We’re tucked into a table in the corner of the restaurant, far from the door—Mom insisted, so none of her clients would “recognize” her, which I had no words for—but she still leans in close to the table and whispers, “It’s that really tall boy I saw you with at the grocery store. It’s him, isn’t it?”
