Resisting Love: Behind Blue Lines Series

by Christine Zolendz

  “Keep you away?” she barked out a laugh. “He didn’t want you away.”

  “What?” I suddenly felt dizzy, lightheaded.

  She sat up in her bed and leaned all the way forward. Her face was about two inches from mine. “That whore bitch and him wanted you with them.” She did some crazy thing with her fists, some tic that I didn’t understand. “Kenny said he was a good man. Said he’d take care of me. He always did. He never stopped loving me. That whore? He had to marry her. But I couldn’t let her take you, too.”

  “What? Why?” I asked, stunned. This wasn’t what I thought I was going to hear. It made me more confused and angry. I wanted to tear at the sheets and scream and cry.

  “Then, I’d have nothing left,” she mumbled, almost incoherently. “Livie, be a love and get me a ciggie. Please?”

  I sank to the floor. He wanted me? My father wanted me?

  “As soon as they she knew about you, he was asking for you, but I told him no. I wasn’t letting that cunt get anything else of mine. She couldn’t have her own kids. Then, all of a sudden, she went and got knocked up right after you were born. He wouldn’t leave her then.”

  I felt sick. “And the money?”

  She smiled a toothless smile. I blinked rapidly wondering when the hell she’d lost all her teeth. “I don’t care. I just need enough to go to the bar, and maybe play some slots on the weekends. I loved when he came to see me; he’d leave crying. I loved making him cry as much as he made me cry.”

  Her words didn’t sink in at first. I stared at her, mouth hanging open, trying to make the words clear in my head. I needed a translator. I needed someone to explain to me what the fuck this bitch thought she was saying to me. Then the words, one by one clicked in understanding for me, and I felt the literal tear in my heart as it ripped in two and climbed up my throat. “All this time,” I said, my voice in utter anguish. “All this fucking time, I’ve been paying for things, and you just let me. You let me think that I was unwanted. That I was trash. That he didn’t want me. And you were saying what to him?”

  “It ain’t had nothin’ to do with you,” she answered, shrugging her shoulders.

  What? How was she able to say that? Think that?

  “What did he think? What did he think I was doing? Where did he think I was?”

  “It don’t matter none now,” she grumbled. “That bitch wouldn’t even let me go to his funeral. Cunt.”

  “Do you realize how crazy you sound? You did the same thing she did,” I was screaming, hands fisted against my chest, holding them back from throttling her. “You kept his daughter from him. You kept me from him! From someone that wanted me. You never wanted me, so why? Why didn’t you just let me know him?” I said, collapsing onto the chair in tears. “You ruined me.”

  “Nah, Livie. You were always so much stronger than me. You didn’t care if you were alone, baby girl. I taught you that. I taught you how to be alone and take care of yourself. Not needin’ anyone. If I didn’t you’da turned into me.” She crumpled up the letter and tossed it into my lap. “I wasn’t giving that bitch my kid, neither. She got him.”

  My eyes blurred with tears, and I couldn’t wipe them away fast enough to see clearly. “You fucking, selfish bitch. Did you ever think about what I needed--what I wanted?”

  She stared at me blankly.

  I swiped my sleeve across the bottom of my nose. “Did you ever love me? Did you ever want me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Olivia Rhys, you’re the best thing that’s come out of my pathetic life. I didn’t want her to get her hands on you. I didn’t want his hands on you.”

  Her words felt like a slap across the face. I continued to dry my eyes, desperately wanting a clear view of her face. I felt my heart accelerate. “What do you mean: You didn’t want his hands on me too?”

  Her eyes fluttered over the hospital sheets, her irises doing their jerky alcohol-ruined movements.

  “Mom? What do you mean?” I asked, cautiously. “Why did you say that?” I whispered, trying to control the trembling in my voice.

  “I was only fifteen when he got me pregnant, Liv.” Her voice was just a whisper. “He was thirty and married. He promised me the world. He lied. He just liked little girls.”

  I winced at her words, but I didn’t know if I could hold any weight to them. Was she lying to me again? Was she making up stories again? Would I ever find out the truth? I leaned back in the chair and rubbed my eyes. It didn’t matter, did it? I was who I was because of all of their choices. I needed to leave. But, God, if she was that young and went through something bad, she needed help. Real professional help.

  “Liv, I really need something to drink, my throat, it’s parched,” she pleaded.

  “There’s ice water right next to you—”

  I was instantly wet.

  It all happened so fast that I didn’t register her swinging her arm until the cup of icy water slammed against my chest and splashed up over my face. Cold water dripped from my hair, nose, chin, and down my neck.

  “I just need a fucking drink,” she hissed, “and I don’t mean water.” Her wild empty eyes narrowed at me.

  “Don’t you want to get better, Mom? We can fix things—”

  “For what?” she demanded. “You can’t fix it. You can’t. Just get out of here and stay away from me.”

  “But you’re the only family I’ve ever had,” I whispered.

  “Pretend I’m dead, then,” she snapped, flailing her arms at the rest of the objects on the able next to her. They flew across the room and clattered and clanked over the floor. “Because if I don’t get a fucking drink soon that’s what I’ll be—dead. Dead! Dead!”

  Until that moment, I never thought that a heart could be completely shattered and so irrevocably broken. I was utterly alone in this world; all there was around me was the absence of love.

  And that was the way it always had been.

  Except when I was with the Furys. The Furys always made me feel like family.

  I hesitated on my way out the door, looking back at the sick woman sitting alone in a hospital bed. Over the years, I heard stories about my parents’ relationship from my mother. To me, they were all a bunch of over-romanticized stories. Could someone pine for another for years? Slowly deteriorate from the lack of him in their life? I had always doubted it, until now.

  “Goodbye Audrey,” I whispered and turned to leave. I had a long journey home, with the promise of an empty apartment ahead of me, and absolute lack of guilt to look forward to. My mother had always made her own choices, and I was going to make mine. She’d be going away to the best place I could find for substance abuse and whatever therapy she needed to be able to live a better life. I had the bankroll for it now. I’d be in Vermont, knowing I did the best thing I could, and I’d live my life for myself—no guilt—no regrets.

  But outside the door to her hospital room, leaning against the wall—looking like some fucking savior—Dean was waiting for me. “Liv.” He voice was rough, raw—making my name sound like an answered prayer.

  “Dean,” I choked, trying not to cry, trying desperately to remember how to breathe when I looked at him. I had to look away before I started to sob and fall to my knees at his feet.

  Then, his hands were cupped around my cheeks, my back pressed against the wall, and his lips were against mine. I leaned my head back in response, his warmth surrounded me, comfortable and safe, and I kissed him knowing it would be the very last time.

  He pulled back until his eyes locked on mine, his fingers twisted softly in my hair, holding my head gently in place. “I didn’t expect God’s grace,” he said, as his eyes watered. “I didn’t expect to find any goodness in this world, in this life that I chose—the job I chose. Then,” he said, leaning his head closer to me, touching his forehead to mine. “Then one day—at the very worst time in my life—when I was alone and grieving, literal alarm bells rang out, waking me up from the prison I put myself in. And there you were.”

&nb
sp; He kissed my forehead reverently—my cheeks, and the tip of my nose too. “There you were. Filthy, bloody, and all innocent-eyed. The single most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. And I’ve been a fool to think I could let you walk away.”

  I tried to speak, but all that came out was a feeble attempt at a gasp.

  “It’s going to be hard. But I promise you, I will always make it worth it. Us together, we’re worth it. I want you to stay—here—with me.” His voice trembled, and it was the most agonizingly beautiful sound I’d ever heard. “I want you, Liv. Not just to hook up, I want you in my life. I want to try us. Because I know we’d be fucking perfect together.”

  I grasped at his hands that where still wrapped in my hair, and I choked out a raspy sob.

  And then, I carefully gave him what was left of my heart.

  Chapter 19

  Liv

  His hands were in my hair, his body pressing my back against the inside door of his Jeep—his lips moving softly over mine. The drive home was erratic; he pulled over no less than three times to capture my lips in a kiss or run his hands across my face and neck.

  I could barely catch my breath. When we finally arrived at his house, he parked behind Brooke’s car in the driveway—and the windows had steamed up and the icy air was seeping in—but that wasn’t what was making me tremble. It was Dean’s warm hands on my skin and the way his lips and eyes seemed to worship all the parts of me he could get to under the heat of my coat that made me quake.

  It was hard to clear my head, to find a way to tell him to stop just for a moment.

  His elbow hit into the center console with a loud thud—yet he didn’t notice. “Wait. Dean, hold on.” My voice was shaky and weak.

  He instantly froze, breathing heavily against the curve of my neck. “Inside?” he whispered. I could feel his smile as he laid a soft kiss against the hollow of my throat.

  “God, yes,” I breathed in a heavy exhale.

  Dean pulled himself back into the driver’s seat and looked at me with smoldering eyes. “Okay, but hold on and let me come around to help you out.”

  Butterflies swarmed deep in my stomach as I watched him climb out of the car and run through the snow to my door. I tugged down on my hat as his opened it. Fresh falling ice and snow covered his hair and eyelashes, and I giggled up at him through the spiraling flakes that stormed into the car. Before I could even lift my foot to step down, Dean reached in and scooped me up into his arms. I yelped out a scream, and he just laughed, kicking the car door closed with his foot.

  He carried me over the building snowdrifts toward the path of the house that led to the front porch. Patches of melted snow and rock salt littered the pathway. Dean’s boots scraped over the pellets and crunched along the slippery ground. I prayed he wouldn’t lose his footing; we would end up flat on our behinds putting a hamper on our plans for the night.

  He lowered me to my feet when we reached the door and fumbled with the cold keys to unlock it. I knew they were cold from the curses he mumbled just under his breath. Then, a much-appreciated fiery blaze of warm cozy air hit me hard as soon as I stepped inside.

  Boots and coats got torn off and hung to dry haphazardly in the entryway as we tried desperately to stay quiet. He covered a finger over his lips and gestured toward Brooke’s apartment door. From somewhere behind it, a deep voice was speaking. Then, Brooke’s laughter rang out after.

  Maybe that was her secret guy? Maybe they were talking everything through, mending whatever their differences were and fixing the relationship. I hoped it went well for her; she deserved to have love in her life.

  As we both tiptoed to the foot of the stairs, the coat rack, burdened heavily with our wet outerwear slammed nosily to the floor. It sent a crash of thunder through the house.

  We collapsed into a fit of giggles on the first step, and Brooke’s face was immediately peeking out of a narrow opening in her doorway. “Everything okay?” she asked, peering out. Her apartment looked dark behind her and all I could make out were the dark shadows of her hair and one eye.

  “Yeah, sorry. Uh…Liv is just going to stay with me tonight,” he said, winking at me.

  “Okay,” Brooke whispered from behind the door. She didn’t sound as happy as I thought she would, and I stood up to try to see her better. “I have someone here, anyway,” she continued low and quick. “I’ll talk to you later.” Then, quite unexpectedly, she shut the door with a quick harsh smack.

  “That’s got to be that guy she’s been getting flowers from,” I said, looking back at Dean. I wondered why she closed the door the way she did. It didn’t seem like they’d been fighting. We had just heard her laughter. I toyed with the idea of knocking on her door and letting myself in.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said, reaching for my hand and gently pulling me back toward the steps. His eyes looked deeply and longingly into mine. “Do you still want to come upstairs with me?” And just like that I forgot about knocking on her door.

  I nodded earnestly, keeping my eyes on his. It was overwhelming, the feeling I had, standing there with him for that one significant moment. Both of us watching each other, waiting, knowing exactly what was going to happen as soon as we reached the last step.

  We flew up the stairs like two sex-starved teenagers, slamming his apartment door behind us.

  And then we were alone—in his bedroom—with only the small lamp next to his bed on, casting a soft orange glow over us. I didn’t even register our surroundings, they were blurry and insignificant, all I saw was him.

  “I’ve never wanted someone so much before,” he whispered, reaching over and gently touching his finger to my chin. He stepped closer, and heat rushed over my body. A small gasp escaped on my breath, and his lips tugged up into a smile. The buttons of my shirt opened somehow—I didn’t know if it was him or me—all I was aware of was the heat of his eyes on mine and the cool air whispering across my skin. My shirt slipped down, melting into a small puddle on the floor. Fingers danced delicately over the strap of my bra, just over my collarbone, yet he didn’t pull it over the curve of my shoulder, like I thought he would. Instead, he softly trailed his fingers along the outside of the bra, tracing the swell of my breasts, up and over them, exploring the dip of my navel and the waistband of my pants.

  I watched him as his gaze poured over my body. There was a fire to his eyes that was almost indescribable. The way he looked at me and watched as his fingertips traveled over my body was the most sensual, most erotic and arousing sensation I had ever felt. He was barely touching me and yet my skin was so awakened by his caresses that I struggled to control my breathing.

  I grabbed for the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head, dropping it to the floor. His body was magnificent. Thick, broad shoulders. Smooth, hard chest. And a stomach full of tight, flat, rippled muscles. I giggled out loud.

  “Is that a good laugh?” he asked with a wicked smirk.

  I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth and blushed deeply. “It’s a laugh that roughly translates to Holy shit, he’s perfect.”

  “No way,” he whispered. “Perfection is what’s right in front of me.”

  My cheeks burned hotter.

  Slowly, I unbuttoned my jeans and slid down the zipper—his eyes, lidded and heavy were locked on my every movement. I shimmied the denim down over my hips—slow and deliberate—until they pooled at my feet. I heard his breath, shaky and hoarse, whisper my name.

  I held my breath as he pulled my hair to one side and grazed his lips along the front of my shoulder, all the way across my collarbone. His mouth was warm and soft as he pressed me back down onto the edge of an old-fashioned cushioned chair he kept in his room.

  I lowered myself onto the edge of the seat, leaning my back against the soft pillows adorning it. My head fell back, and our eyes met. Another long, lingering, intimate glance trapped me before he bent forward to kiss me. I moaned low against his mouth.

  He ran his fingers gently down the insides of my thighs w
ith a feathery touch, trailing them all the way to my knees. My legs fell apart slightly until his fingers splayed wide and pushed them apart, lifting my knees and hooking them both over the arms of the chair. I was wide open to him, the only thing covering me was the thin lacy material of my bra and panties, which I was positive was soaked through.

  His fingers dug into my legs as his lips moved over mine; they slid up coolly to the hem of my underwear and slipped under the wet fabric. He toyed with the material, twisting it over sensitive spots as his lips shifted down my neck and over the curve of my breasts that ached with need. His mouth gave just the whisper of kisses along my skin, tormenting me with lust and making me greedy for more.

  His lips, his tongue—the heat of his mouth—moved slowly lower down my body until the top of his head and the arc of his shoulders hovered over my hips. I was so aroused—so filled with anticipation—my body trembled uncontrollably.

  For a brief moment, I felt paralyzed, terrified of the overwhelming wave of need and emotions I had for this one man. Always, it was this one man. He left a trail of fire on my skin, and I felt unsure if my heart could handle all the ways he was holding me and touching me, looking at me, cherishing me.

  “Will you stay here? With me? And not just tonight?” His words pressed into my body as he hooked his fists around the elastic of my panties and slipped his tongue through my warmth. I gasped loudly, whimpering his name.

  “Yes,” I sighed. There was no other word, no other choice, my heart was pounding too hard in my chest, and my insides were melting. “Yes, yes, yes.” My words shook with the spiraling ache that was building almost immediately from his tongue.

  The inferno strengthened and intensified through my body, and I really didn’t think I could take much more. I whimpered his name, threading my fingers through his hair, pulling him up. I needed more of him, before I burst into nothingness under his mouth.