by L. B. Dunbar
I step forward, but she steps back, almost slipping off the curb. I catch her by her arm.
“Lilac, it wasn’t like that. It was just some kind of power play, I guess. I’m not used to tender touches and romantic caresses, okay? There’s a fine line between love and hate, and slaps and hits were somewhere in-between.” My father started it. He loved to hate me, or he hated that he felt he had to love me. I’d never know the difference, but he was the only parent I had, and I wanted his approval. I wanted his acceptance, and then I had to accept I’d never have it.
Her eyes drift back to the gym, and her lips twists. I have no idea what she’s thinking or what she suddenly thinks of me.
“I’d never be like that,” she whispers as she told me in the ring. God, the fire in her eyes. The heave of her chest. I wanted to lay her out right there and have my way with her. “I can’t be like that.” She glances back at me, concern evident in her softening eyes.
“I don’t need it like that. I don’t want it like that.” There are all kinds of twisted relationships, thriving on various levels of physical interaction, but that’s not what’s happened with Mandi. It’s been the push and pull of a love-hate relationship. I’ve confused the push for love, thinking it’s the way I deserve things.
Taking a deep breath, I slip my hand down her arm, seeking her hand. “Look, I want to spend the day with you again. Let’s get lost in the city. Don’t think about the fight. Don’t think. This trip is supposed to be about you.”
She swipes back her hair, staring over my shoulder. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here with you.” The anguish in her voice is killing me.
“You’re letting me show you this city. You’re letting me show you a part of me.” I wave out at the gym, but suddenly worry she doesn’t like the part she’s seeing.
What if my parts don’t fit hers? Dating is an experiment of how pieces fit together. What if ours don’t fit?
+ + +
When we return to the apartment, Ella’s made plans for Pam to spend the day with her. Spa treatments of massage, nail, and hair are on the agenda. While Pam isn’t the type that needs the fuss—another thing I like so much about her—I can see she’s grateful for the escape. She wants away from me. I also don’t like to deny my sister anything, so I swallow back the fit I want to pitch and allow Ella the time with her friend.
After pouting about a lost day, I decide to work, but my mind consistently wanders. When a text comes through, I’m eager to check it, hoping it’s Pam. Only it’s not.
Mandi.
“What’s up with you two?” Ethan nods toward my phone as we’re both sitting at my dining table. He’s been working on things for his upcoming restaurant opening.
“Lilac?” I question, as she’s the only one on my mind.
“Mandi first.” Ethan’s voice sharpens, and I turn for my phone to find another text light up the screen.
“We’re over,” I state, confident in my answer. When Mandi appeared on my first day here, I told her in no uncertain terms we were finished. I demanded my key, which she tossed on the floor like a spoiled child. She wanted to argue. We had a past. We had a future. But we had nothing. Our parts did not fit.
“Does she know that?” Ethan asks, tipping his head toward my phone.
“She does. I know it was harsh, but I had to tell her I didn’t love her. I never loved her, and I wouldn’t be marrying her.”
“It’s a tough call, but sometimes you have to be brutal, or the message isn’t clear.” Ethan understands. He’s turned into a good friend over the past few months. “So what about Pam?”
I sigh, turning my head for the large window to my left. “Man, I am all mixed up over her. I don’t want to hurt her, but it feels inevitable. We aren’t a good fit.”
“Why would you say that?” Ethan states, irritation building in him.
“Because Pam is perfect, and I’m me.”
“But you want her?”
I nod.
Ethan softens his tone. “You’ve got to pull it together then, man. Show her how you aren’t a bad guy at heart. You need to be the best you so you do deserve her.”
He’s quiet for a second, and I let the words seep into me.
“Look, she’s been telling everyone she’s not in love with you for years while blushing whenever we brought you up, and we didn’t even know who you were. Now, I’ve known you for months, and I see why she likes you. I can see you feel the same way about her, but you’re denying yourself. What’s the use in that? Be happy, man. If you’re truly done with Mandi, the real thing is within your grasp.” Ethan reaches forward as if grabbing something. “Pam is real.”
“But I’m not,” I say, exasperated. “I don’t know how to be real.”
“You’re a man of words. You’ll figure it out, but while you’re at it, remember that actions speak louder than words.”
+ + +
By the time we go to Ella’s show, I should be in good spirits. The four of us had a great dinner, several drinks, and a good time together. It’s been forever since I’ve been out with people other than Mandi and the false group of people we called friends. But I’m on edge. Mandi’s been texting me all day, and it’s been harder and harder to ignore them. Eventually, I turned off my phone only to have it light up again once I turned it on to order an Uber for the gallery.
At the gallery, Ella’s future clothing line is paired with black and white images of famous people all with some kind of affliction. The famous rock star missing a hand. An athlete who lost his leg. A cancer patient without her hair. They’re all beautiful in their own way, and Ella’s clothing line intends to match and enhance them, thus the name Fabulously Flawed. It’s how she sees herself with the scars on her body. The ones I’m reminded are my fault.
As I missed the show in January, allowing Ethan to make a fuss, as he called it, I hadn’t seen her designs.
“She’s so beautiful,” Pam says, standing before me, staring at an image of my sister who modeled for one of the images.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper to her ear. Her head tips back for my shoulder as she cradles a glass of wine in her hand.
“You’re sweet.” Her voice is quiet, soft, and a little dreamy. The wine has taken effect on her. Reaching for her upper arms, I rub up and down.
“I love the philosophy,” Pam adds. We might wear our circumstances on our skin, but it doesn’t define who we are within. It’s a large statement around the border of the gallery.
“I never see her scars when I look at her,” Pam says, her voice still low. Sadly, I always see the scars, still feeling guilty that I’d brought a madman near my sister. “Sometimes scars are all we see on people, though, and they’re not even on the surface. They’re deeper than skin.”
I press a kiss to her temple, knowing she’s hinting at me. “Some people like to hide behind those scars, skin deep or not.”
Pam turns to face me. “You don’t need to hide from me. I think you’re beautiful.”
Her words almost hurt. They’re so raw and real. As Ethan said, she's real, and I want to be the beautiful she needs, but I’m not. I’m damaged inside and out.
“You should model something of Ella’s. Or better yet, just get undressed.” The tease is meant to change the subject.
“Jacob,” she whispers, a light laugh in her tone.
“I’m serious.”
“About the modeling or the undressing?” she flirts back.
“Both.”
She laughs and places a hand on my chest. I want her touch. I want it on my skin. She told me earlier she’d never be rough like Mandi, and I believe her. I want to know what that’s like. Then again, I had it the night we were snowed in, and I didn’t pay enough attention. It’s been weeks since that night, and I want her again.
Leaning forward, I press a soft kiss to her, but when she leans in for more, I struggle to keep it safe for the public.
A scuffle near the door interrupts us before we get too heated.<
br />
“I don’t need an invitation. I’m with Jacob Vincent.” The loud cry echoes through the place, which consisted of quiet chatter and subdued jazz music.
Shit.
My eyes lower to Pam’s, and her forehead furrows. Ethan rushes to the front door, but this is my battle.
“I need to handle this,” I say, pressing a kiss to Pam’s forehead as a sense of dread fills me.
This isn’t the type of fuss Ethan meant. And this isn’t the woman I should be making one with.
“Mandi,” I snap as I near the entrance, and Ethan turns on me.
“This is her?” Disgust fills his face as he eyes the woman who’s been in my life for years. I don’t have to see inside his thoughts to know he’s comparing Pam to her. There’s no comparison. Pam is my lilac. This woman is dead roses.
“Get her out of here.” Ethan’s hissing statement matches my sentiments, and I step out the door, dragging Mandi several feet down the street. The night is dark and misty as was last night when I danced with Pam in a quiet, vacant park off the busy street. This sidewalk is sensory overload with honking horns and shouts from walkers. Lights blare from businesses and vehicles. It’s chaos, and it’s symbolic of Mandi and me.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, tugging her down the street.
.
Chapter 21
Coming Clean
[Pam]
Jacob disappears with her. After I try to give him a few minutes to handle her, as he said, he doesn’t return, and I move toward the front door where Ella’s been standing. Tender concerned eyes meet mine.
“He left with her, didn’t he?”
“He’ll be back,” she tries to assure me but doesn’t sound convinced herself.
“You need to get back to your guests. There could be buyers here,” I remind her. She has a duty tonight. I reach out and pull her into me.
“Don’t give up on him,” she whispers to me, but it isn’t me giving up. I’ve been here, solid and waiting for years. Maybe it’s time for me to stop waiting.
“I’ll see you back at the apartment.”
“Don’t go,” Ella says, holding my wrists.
“I’ll go with you,” Ethan offers, and I hadn’t realized he was behind me.
“No, stay. This is important.” I cup Ella’s face and glance at Ethan, who has stepped next to her. “I’ll be fine.”
Ella orders me an Uber and gives me her keys for the apartment. Once I’ve let myself in, I help myself to a long bath in the guest bathroom. I hear the front door slam, and Jacob’s heavy feet hammer up the staircase.
“Lilac?” His voice on the other side of the door forces me to close my eyes. The doorknob jiggles. “Lilac, please.”
My head shakes as my eyes feel the burn of tears. A soft thud hits the door.
“I can’t talk to you like this. I need to see your face.”
Then why did you leave with her?
I don’t ask. I choke back the question. My eyes remain closed, and I tip back my head, struggling to find my voice. “Just give me a minute, okay?”
The silence behind the door unnerves me, and I linger a little longer than a few minutes. To my surprise, I find Jacob on the edge of the bed, suit jacket off, shoes removed, and tie disheveled. He looks like a wreck, and I’m curious if he’s been drinking. He sits up as I approach, wearing nothing but a towel as I’d left my pajamas in the room.
I stop right before him. His fingers curl into fists as he looks up at me.
“I’m sorry. It’s all I seem to say to you.”
“Where did you go?” I hate that I’m asking. I hate that I feel like it’s Brendan all over again. He chose another woman over me.
“Just down the street around the corner. I didn’t want anyone to see or hear us fighting.” His head lowers, and I cup his chin, wondering if she struck him. Tipping up his face, all I see is the pain of a broken man. The damage is deeper than his skin, and I want to pull him to me. I want to cradle him against me and tell him he’ll be okay. But I’m not certain that’s true. He has to make decisions to improve himself. He needs help, and it’s more than me giving him a hug.
“You were gone a long time,” I say. It might have been ten minutes, but it was ten minutes too long.
“Nothing happened with her. Please, believe me. I didn’t touch her.” His eyes beg me, and my heart breaks. I want to trust him. I want to believe he didn’t give into her. One more goodbye kiss. One more it’s over embrace. When I found out about Brendan, we didn’t have that kind of closure. It was just over. Nothing lingered.
His hands hesitantly come to my hips, curling into the terrycloth material.
“I want to be with you.” His voice shakes while it drips with seduction. I’d like that more than anything, but I won’t be his rebound from her.
“I can’t do it,” I admit, swiping a hand over his head. He tips forward, lowering his forehead for my belly, tugging me closer to him.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t even want to be with me.”
I stroke over his head several times before bending to kiss the back of his head.
“Can I sleep with you?” The vulnerability in his voice breaks me in two.
“Jacob,” I groan.
“I swear. I’ll be good. I’ll keep my hands to myself. I just want to be near you.”
I sigh heavily. “Just let me get dressed.”
He nods. “I’ll be right back.” He picks up his jacket and leaves the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. I quickly dress in short pajamas and a long-sleeved shirt and climb into the bed. Jacob returns within minutes, wearing sleep pants and no shirt. Is he kidding me? His head lowers.
“You know I run hot when I sleep.”
The comment actually breaks the tension a little.
“I’m warning you,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
“I know.” His voice remains serious. I lower under the covers, and he lies next to me, mirroring my position. We just stare at one another for a long minute. I wish I could read his thoughts.
“Remember in Branagh’s version of Frankenstein, all the creature wanted was a mate? He wanted someone to love him for who he was, ugly and scarred, and then the doctor built him one only to destroy her.”
I stay quiet.
“I don’t know if I’m the creator or the creature. I desire and destroy as they both did.”
“What if you aren’t either? What if you’re just Jacob? A man who deserves good, does good.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to do good, and what I should do is stay away from you, but I can’t resist you. I feel that pull more strongly than ever, and I’m spiraling out of control.”
Suddenly, I feel like I’m the one destroying him. “Have you been drinking?” I question afraid of the fight this might bring on.
“No, but I want another drink badly tonight. I was hoping to lose myself in you, instead.” He’s honest, but it hurts a little. He wants sex to forget his pain.
“You can’t replace one thing for another,” I whisper, and he closes his eyes.
“I know.”
I reach out for him, stroking over his face.
“Remember when you were sick, and you were rubbing my arm over your waist?”
I hardly remember that, but I shrug. “Sure.”
“Can I ask you to do that again? Let me hold you.”
My brows pinch, but he isn’t opening his eyes. It’s as if the closed lids are protecting him, keeping his dungeon locked tight. Without answering, I roll to give him my back, and he moves closer to me, wrapping his arm over my waist. I slide his forearm up against my breasts, hating how instantly my nipples respond. The swells ache for his attention, but I won’t be giving in to temptation tonight. I scratch my fingernails lightly over the coarse hairs on his arm, and he hums at my neck.
“That scent. You’re lilacs and heaven.”
Having him this close, knowing how much he hurts, feels like hell, though.
> + + +
The next day, we plan to visit iconic sites such as the Statue of Liberty, The Empire State Building, and Ground Zero. Thankfully, Ethan and Ella plan to go with us as we take this shortened tour through the city. Jacob and I are quiet around one another, cautious actually.
“No private tour guide today,” I lightly tease.
“He’s decided to give you the weekend special. Payment accepted whenever you’re ready.” Jacob’s voice rings melancholy this morning, and it’s not a sound I’ve heard from him. He’s confident, funny, sarcastic, and tough, but this is a different man before me.
I’m grateful for the distraction of Ethan and Ella, but especially Ethan, who turns each stop in the full tourist package, complete with a hundred selfies, posts to social media, and running commentary as he looks up facts on the internet. New York is a world of difference from our small town, and Ethan soaks it all up. The photos remind me I should have been posting for Jacob on his social media accounts, and I make a mental note to work up some kind of trip in review for once we return.
It’s a whirlwind of visits until we reach the final destination.
As we stand in the silence surrounding the fallen towers, it’s surreal to imagine their height and accept the eerie quiet at the memorial despite the rushing city around this now-sacred space. Tears fill my eyes for the victims—both innocents and first responders—and when the salty liquid trickles down my cheek, Jacob pulls me into him.
“This was too much,” he states, but I shake my head.
“It’s so hard to be on the front line sometimes,” I explain, recalling emergencies and accidents over the years. There were only two that broke me, and they happened simultaneously. “The night of my father’s accident and yours, something inside me snapped. I couldn’t get back into the mindset I needed to be on-task. Without even realizing it, I suffered post-traumatic stress disorder.”
Jacob leans me away from him only so much that he can look at my face. “How did I never know this?”
