by Street, K.
I ran my hand over the soft, supple black leather. The pads of my fingers dragged over the worn edges, feeling every crease. I palmed the journal and stared at it for a long time, but I never opened it. I didn’t need to rehash those memories. I had lived them; the scars were tattooed on my soul.
Last night, as I’d walked out of Jaxson’s Garage, I had known what I had to do. If there was a chance in hell that we would make it through this, I had to give Nash this piece of me.
Giving him my words was so much more than allowing him a glimpse into my darkness. It was letting him free-fall into the abyss of my despair. It meant trusting him with my brokenness, and as much as that terrified me, reading it would help him understand. I didn’t want to hurt him any more than I already had, but it was the only way Nash and I would ever find our way back to each other.
29
Nash
I lost track of how many days had gone by since I found out about Lucas. It seemed irrational to miss something you never had, but here I was, caught up in my grief for a son I would never know and pissed at the world.
Anger.
The second stage of the grieving process, and I was stuck there. Handcuffed to a chair and chained in the fucking basement. No matter how hard I tried to move beyond it … I couldn’t.
Every day, I went to work, and every night, I came home. I spent hours in the garage, lifting weights and pummeling the shit out of the heavy bag until exhaustion took over. After a shower, I would fall into bed. Each day was more of the same. An endless cycle of wash, rinse, and repeat.
Until tonight.
When I came home from work, I found a package at my front door along with an envelope taped to the top. I would recognize Macy’s loopy script anywhere. For half a second, I thought about ripping the paper to shreds and torching the cardboard, but something stopped me. Maybe it was my need for answers and that I was still searching to make sense of Macy’s betrayal.
I carried the box into the house and set it in the living room before I grabbed a beer from the fridge. I stood at the kitchen window and stared out across the lawn for a while because, even though I wanted those answers, I wasn’t sure I was ready to face whatever Macy had to say. Eventually, I twisted the cap off the bottle and lifted it to my lips. After I took a long swallow, I allowed my curiosity to draw me back into the front room.
I sat down in the recliner and yanked the envelope from the cardboard. I slipped my finger beneath the edge and withdrew the paper inside. The page crinkled as I unfolded it and flattened the creases, so I could read the words she had written.
Nash,
I can’t change the past, but I hope that, somehow, we’ll find our way back to each other. Enclosed, you’ll find the journal I kept back then. It won’t be easy for you to read, and please know that I’m not trying to hurt you. You once accused me of not letting you in, and you were right. So, this is me … exposing my heart and giving you all my ugly, fractured pieces.
Love always,
Bee
Her signature made my chest constrict. I read the letter through twice more before I used my key to open the box. Inside, I found a small black leather-bound notebook. I grasped it between my fingers and lifted it out. With a deep inhale and steeled nerves, I flipped it open.
Macy’s handwritten words spilled over the page. A few small, circular stains dotted the paper, causing the blue ink to smear.
Her tears.
The realization was like a steel-toed boot to the ribs, and I hated myself a little bit more. Shame burned a hole in my stomach as I began to read.
July 10, 2008
Everything hurts. Breathing. Eating. Talking. There isn’t a single, solitary waking moment that I’m not in pain. I never thought it was possible to die from a broken heart, but here I am, and that’s what it feels like. I’m so tired of hurting. I just want it to stop. I can’t take it anymore. My heart keeps beating, but I wish it weren’t. I’m so fucking alone.
When I close my eyes, all I see is Nash and his hands all over her. I hate him! I swear, I hate him so fucking much!
If I really hated him though … it wouldn’t hurt this bad. I want to hate him. It would be so much easier. I’m so tired of fighting the pain. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be at all.
I looked down at my hands, half-expecting them to be coated in blood. Her words were a thousand razor blades across my flesh. They sliced me open and left me bleeding out.
My beautiful, stubborn, strong girl hadn’t wanted to live anymore.
I made her wish she were dead.
How could I have done that to her?
I had wanted to save her, but I’d nearly destroyed her instead. Guilt crashed over me in waves until I was drowning in it.
It was going to take something stronger than the half a bottle of lukewarm beer I hadn’t touched again to get me through this.
Setting the journal aside, I went into the kitchen for the scotch I kept tucked away. I poured three fingers into a glass tumbler, replaced the alcohol, and returned to the living room.
The notebook stared at me in disdain from its perch on the side table. Edges worn, spine cracked, and pages full of condemnation. Like a coward working up his courage, I sipped the amber liquid, biding my time while I waited for the buzz to take effect, to transform my agony into a dull ache.
* * *
August 21, 2008
Pregnant. I’m pregnant. How can I be pregnant?
I don’t want to believe it. This doesn’t seem real. I know it is, but I don’t want it to be. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do. I’m eighteen and an only child. I know nothing about babies. I can’t have a baby.
My parents. Oh God, my parents. I have to tell them. They’re going to be so disappointed in me. Dad is going to kill me. Then, he’s going to strangle Nash.
I have to tell Nash. He has to know.
How did this happen? I’m fucking pregnant. What am I supposed to do?
This wasn’t the plan. I can’t have a baby.
* * *
September 4, 2008
For weeks, all I’ve thought about is this baby inside me. On two different occasions, I spent hours sitting in my car in the parking lot of an abortion clinic. I made a list of all the reasons having a baby right now is impossible. I’ve read and researched and weighed every option.
And, after all of that, I keep coming back to my truth. I want this baby. My baby. No matter how hard it’s going to be … I want it. I can do this. I’ll figure it out.
I have to tell my family at some point, but I will do it when I’m ready and on my terms. Nash has to know, but he isn’t a deciding factor. I don’t want or need anything from him. He doesn’t get a say in this. By the time they all find out, it will be too late for anyone to pressure me into something I don’t want to do. I don’t care what anyone says. I’m keeping my baby.
* * *
Each random account was a glimpse into Macy’s heart.
Some days, she had written in the journal two or three times, and then several days would pass between entries. It was all there—her doubts and fears. She was completely and painfully transparent. Her shock had worn off, the morning sickness had faded, her belly had gotten bigger, and her classes had gotten harder.
My chest inflated with pride at her fierce determination. My eyes became glassy when Macy described the first time she’d heard Lucas’s heartbeat and the first time she’d felt him move. I longed for all the moments I’d missed, and I hated myself for not being there to hold her when it all had fallen apart.
Macy’s heartache dripped like kerosene across the pages. She’d held nothing back, and the more I read, the more weighed down with guilt I became.
I knew how the story ended, and I couldn’t bring myself to keep reading.
30
Nash
I had gotten home from work hours ago, and Macy’s journal, which I had been avoiding since then, remained in the same spot I had left it last night. I p
oured myself a little scotch, carried it into the living room, and sat in the chair. My gaze flitted from the glass in my grip to the notebook and back again.
She thought her words were the key somehow. The way we would make it through and come out on the other side, but I wasn’t sure that was possible.
I stared into the whiskey with bloodshot eyes that had more to do with lack of sleep than alcohol consumption. Minutes slipped away before I finally lifted it to my lips. The liquor glided down my throat, smooth and warm, but left me hollow.
I was trapped inside my anger, and no matter how many of Macy’s words I’d read, how much scotch I’d drunk, or how hard I’d hit the fucking heavy bag, I had yet to move beyond it. I was pissed at myself and the situation. I was mad as hell at the universe. And I hurt so fucking bad; it was hard to breathe.
The only thing that had slightly shifted was my anger toward Macy. After reading her words, having that glimpse inside her head, I had begun to understand why she had done what she had done.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled. The storm outside matched the one brewing within me. I needed to get out of my head. To lose myself in something.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I shoved out of the chair with the tumbler of scotch in my hand and strode to the door. I flipped on the porch light, twisted the knob, and pulled open the door, finding Macy on the other side.
The sight of her was unexpected.
Water dripped from the ends of her hair. The shirt she had on clung to her curves.
Staring at her, I realized I didn’t want to lose myself in something. I wanted to bury myself in someone.
And that someone was Macy.
“What are you doing here?”
Without waiting for an invitation, she ducked under my arm and came inside. “I wanted to see you.”
“Is that all?” I closed the door and walked past her, settling back into the chair.
“No.”
“Then, why are you here?”
“I needed to know that you were okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“You read it, didn’t you?” she asked softly.
I stared into my glass. “Most of it.”
“I hate that you’re hurting, and I’m worried about you. We should talk.”
Talk.
That was the last thing I wanted to do.
31
Macy
I waited for Nash to say something … anything. He wasn’t okay, and I didn’t know how to fix it or make it better.
A chill ran over my body, and goose bumps broke out over my skin.
I needed a towel, and Nash seemed to need a minute.
“I’ll be right back.” I dropped my purse onto the floor and walked down the hall, through his bedroom, and into the bathroom.
The door to Nash’s linen closet opened with a creak. I reached inside for a towel and dried off the best I could. Once I squeezed the excess water from my hair, I abandoned the towel on the counter and stepped into Nash’s bedroom just as he entered the space.
He set his drink down on the dresser with enough force to shatter the glass and stalked toward me.
I took a step back and then another until my back was pressed against the open bathroom door.
With his palms against the wood on either side of my head, Nash caged me in. “I don’t want to talk.”
My mouth went dry. “If you don’t want to talk, what do you want?”
A storm raged in his eyes—angry, intense, and all-consuming.
“I want to bury my cock so deep inside you until you’re the only thing I feel.”
His palpable need lit the fuse to my desire.
I’d come here to fight for him. If my body was what it took to give him some peace, a way to exorcise his demons, then I would happily give that to him. There would be time for words later.
“So, do it.”
“It won’t be gentle.”
“I can take it.”
His hands fisted my damp hair; tugging roughly, he positioned my head to suit him. He crashed his lips over mine. Invading my mouth with his tongue in a punishing kiss.
He smelled of soap and tasted like a hint of scotch and pent-up emotions.
I wanted all of it.
His sadness.
His anger.
His hunger.
Nash’s hands moved to the hem of my shirt. He stripped the wet cotton fabric over my head before he dropped his mouth to my neck. His fingers fumbled with my bra while he nipped and sucked my skin. He slid the straps down my arms, and then his mouth was back on mine, kissing me until my lungs screamed for air.
Desperate for a second to catch my breath, I pushed against his naked chest.
The noise of our combined panting breaths filled the inches that separated us.
Our gazes locked.
“I’m so fucking pissed, Bee.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He wasn’t talking about my heart.
My palms clasped his cheeks. “You won’t. I’m not made of glass. Use my body. Take everything you’re feeling and give it to me. Let me help you.”
Nash lowered my hands from his face and used one of his to pin my wrists above my head while he used the other to cup my breast. He pinched a pebbled nipple between his fingers, and when I cried out, he fit his mouth to mine and swallowed the sound.
I reached for his fly, wanting to feel just how hard he was for me, but Nash had other ideas.
He took a step back. “Strip.”
There was no hesitation as my hands went to the waistband of my jeans. The denim wasn’t nearly as wet as my shirt had been, but it took some effort to peel them off. I disentangled myself and kicked the material to the side.
Nash watched my every move. I took off my panties and hoped I looked a little more graceful than I had seconds ago.
His lust-drunk gaze raked over me as I stood bare before him.
He dropped to his knees and glided his nose over my pussy. “Your scent is fucking intoxicating.” Calloused hands skimmed up my legs to my inner thighs. “Open for me.”
I spread my legs.
With his thumbs, he spread apart the lips of my pussy and dragged his flattened tongue over my wet center. My hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh as the tip of his tongue circled my clit.
“Oh God.”
It had been too long, and I had forgotten just how skilled he was with his mouth. I was coming undone, and I didn’t know how much longer I would be able to stand upright.
He gripped my knee and brought it over his shoulder.
One hand grasped his hair while I used the other to hold tight to the doorknob in an attempt to balance myself.
His scruff scratched the inside of my thighs as Nash buried his face between my legs.
Licking. Nipping. Sucking. Eating my pussy like he was starved for it.
“Yes. God. Yes. More.”
I was close. So close.
And then his mouth was gone.
My foot was planted back on the floor, and Nash stood, his lips mere inches from mine.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because.” That was his only explanation.
“Nash. Please. I need to come,” I begged.
“No.” He took possession of my mouth.
The taste of myself on his tongue was erotic.
I broke the kiss. “What do you mean, no?”
He shoved two fingers inside me. Then, he slowly withdrew them, purposely missing the spot that ached for his touch.
He nipped my bottom lip.
“You’ll come when I’m ready for you to come, and when you do, it will be with my dick buried inside you.”
At his words, my pussy grew wetter.
32
Nash
“Bed,” I told her and then stepped back, allowing Macy the room to move.
I watched her walk away. Her back,
shoulders, and ass were red from where she had been pressed against the door.
Talking would come later. Right now, I needed to fuck her.
My dick was hard, straining against the confines of my jeans. I stripped down to nothing and crossed the space that separated me from Macy.
I grabbed a condom from the drawer, sheathed my cock, and stood at the foot of the bed taking her in.
She was a fucking sight to behold. Her red hair was spread over my pillows like flames from a wildfire. Macy’s legs were open, her pussy wet and waiting.
I climbed onto the mattress and positioned myself over her, my cock at her entrance, our gazes locked. “There won’t be any more secrets between us, Bee.” In a single thrust, I plunged balls deep into her warm heat and stilled. “Promise me.”
“Ahhh. I promise.”
I claimed her mouth in a kiss and rocked into her, taking what had always been mine. I angled her hips and set a punishing pace.
“Yes. Harder.”
I pounded into her over and over. She was getting close, but I was determined to make it last. I pulled out, and she looked to be on the brink of breaking.
“Nash, please. Please let me come.”
“Soon.” I shifted, putting a bit of space between us. “Roll onto your stomach and bend your knees.”
She got into position with her perfect ass in the air.
I guided my dick back to her opening and thrust inside her.
In and out. Fast and hard. Until our bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, and Macy’s cries reverberated off the walls.
I grasped Macy’s hair in my hand, wrapping it around my fist, and then used my free hand to reach around her. Finding her clit, I pressed the pad of my thumb against it, and seconds later, Macy detonated like a bomb.
