High Risk Love

by Shannon Mayer

  With my free hand I reached to the back of his neck and traced the scars I knew were there. He closed his eyes.

  “Those are from the last beating. He tried to kill me . . . I think.”

  I didn’t ask questions, my heart breaking at the thought of Jet as a little boy, golden eyes and golden hair, a sweet charming smile . . . how could anyone lift a hand, let along beat their baby till they scarred? Till they bled in front of them, black and blue with blows from hands that should have loved, not hurt their child?

  “Jet,” I said softly, and he lifted shame-filled eyes to me. “Are you sure you want to go on?” I felt like a heel asking him about his past now, seeing the pain and old fear in his eyes, seeing the shame that bled out through the gold.

  “A trade is a trade,” he said.

  His shoulders hunched and he closed his eyes and spoke, almost as if I wasn’t there. “I thought I was protecting Jasper, he never got more than a smack up the backside of his head. He was younger than me by three years. Protecting him, that was my job, the last thing my mother asked me to do . . . and I failed him. The abuse was worse for him, so much worse . . . and I didn’t even know.” He took a deep shuddering breath. I scooted forward and wrapped my arms around his wide shoulders. How long had he carried this by himself? Maybe his whole life? By himself, believing he’d failed his little brother. But the scars on his body said otherwise; they showed a loyalty that ran so deep, so true.

  He leaned into me for a split second, a soft breath of air escaping him before he pulled away, straightening his back. Lacing his fingers behind his head he traced the scars once more. If he were a poker player, I’d say it was a tell, a show of nerves.

  “I don’t know if I can say the rest.”

  I took a deep breath, knowing that the rest would come when he was ready, if he was ever ready. Now it was my turn. “My parents died three years ago, in a car accident.”

  The tension in him receded; he turned to look at me, his hand finding mine as I started to shake.

  Grief, heavy and suffocating, clawed at my throat, begging me to let out the sobs I’d never succumbed to, had fought to keep at bay in order to keep moving forward. To act like I was okay. “The accident happened in front of our house. The other driver had been drinking; he was committing what the police called vehicular suicide. He hit them head on, on purpose.”

  Jet’s eyes softened further and I closed mine not wanting to see my grief reflected in him. “I haven’t talked to anyone about this.”

  “That makes two of us,” he said, arms stealing around my waist, pulling me sideways onto his lap. I put my chin on his shoulder and stared at the waterfall behind us. “Ryan and I were home; we heard the crash and ran out. We were the first ones on the scene. My mom was still alive, but my dad—” The memories flickered in my head, so much blood, Dad’s eyes glazed over, the light snuffed out in a second of someone else’s recklessness; someone else’s desire to die had killed three people, not one. The sound of mom still breathing, wet and irregular, and then it had just stopped.

  Jet’s hands stroked my back, slid along my neck and shoulders. I took a breath and plunged on. “I gave my mom mouth to mouth, Ryan did the compressions. I can still taste her blood if I let myself think about it for too long. We weren’t enough though, we couldn’t save her. She died on the way to the hospital.” A sob caught at my throat and I bit down on my lower lip.

  “Let it go,” Jet whispered.

  I shook my head. “There’s more, and if I don’t get it out now, I don’t know if I ever can.”

  He didn’t push me away, didn’t tell me to get over it or that it had been three years and I should just be glad they died quickly. All the things people say to make it sound like they care, like you will be all right, but they don’t know. They don’t know the hurt of losing everyone you’ve ever loved.

  “Ryan was diagnosed with cancer a year ago. He fought it hard and there was a point the doctors thought maybe he could pull through, that he was strong enough. They were wrong; he wasn’t strong enough. I watched him die, felt his breath leave his body, begged him to stay with me, to not leave me alone, but—” Jet’s arms tightened around me, and I couldn’t fight the emotions any more. Big deep sobs spilled out of me and I clung to him, distantly aware that he was crying too.

  We held each other, our pasts so different and yet, filled with the same things. Guilt, shame, grief and pain, mingling into a quagmire that had sucked us both down so deep. That darkness, though, seemed to recede with the words that spilled out of me, giving me, for a moment, the chance to see what life could be if I let it. Something better, something whole.

  Shaking with the intensity of my grief, I slowly came back to myself. Aware that I’d monopolized the whole sharing business. With a man I’d barely known for three days.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, brushing tears from my face. “I didn’t mean to cry like that.”

  When I moved as if to shift off his lap arms tightened further, stopping me. Jet put his chin on my shoulder, his face buried in my hair whispering the pain he couldn’t speak.

  “Our stepmother abused him . . . while our father beat me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

  His fingers dug into me, and I held him as tight as I could, crying fresh for the little boys they had been, for the horrors they’d had foisted on them. His body shook, his breathing ragged with pain, and there was nothing I could do to make it better. Like being with Ryan in the hospital again, I could do nothing to ease this except hold him, and pray. Stroke his back, whisper that the darkness would pass, the pain would ease. That I would stay, I wouldn’t leave him alone to face this.

  How long we sat like that . . . it could have been hours. More maybe. The light faded slowly, the sunlight shifting from rock to rock, but never lighting on us. The world moved on, as if our pain was nothing. But I already knew that; that was the way of the world.

  “Why did you look so sad when I called you Jazzy?” His lips were right below my ear and I leaned my head into him so mine were right below his.

  “That was Ryan’s nickname for me. He was the only one who ever called me that.”

  “I’m sorry, I won’t . . .”

  “Don’t be. I don’t mind it from you. Somehow it fits.”

  His hand slid under the back of my shirt, fingers tracing designs on my bare skin, sensual, but not sexual. Like he needed to feel me, almost like a favorite blanket you’d cling to in order to fall asleep as a child.

  “Is what you told me, is that—” I didn’t need to say what ‘that’ was, didn’t want to give it more power by naming it. “Why you and Jasper don’t work together?”

  Jet took a slow breath. “He blames me, for letting it happen. Rightfully so. I should have seen through it. Now when I look back, the signs were there, but I missed them all, too intent on getting through each day, each beating.”

  I leaned back and cupped his face with my hands. “Jet, you were fifteen, and barely surviving your father’s ‘tender care.’ What happened to Jasper wasn’t your fault.”

  His eyes flashed, but I didn’t let him go. “He could have told you.”

  “This is not something men talk about. You hear it around, hear about it happening to others and people say shit like, ‘Good for him, what a fucking stud.’”

  “You weren’t men, you were little boys, children.”

  He wasn’t having any of it, though.

  I changed tactics. “Is it my fault that Ryan died? Is that what you’re saying? That I should have been able to do something about it?”

  He shook his head, frowning at me. “No, that’s different.”

  “It isn’t,” I said, my voice firm. “What happens to us in this life isn’t always of our choosing. But what we do when we’re handed a bucket of shit is our responsibility. We can throw the shit out, clean the bucket and start fresh, or we can wallow in it. You, my friend, are wallowing in a bucket of shit that isn’t even yours.”

  H
is head was bowed, and slowly he lifted his eyes to mine. A smile quirked across his lips.

  “Listen here, potty mouth.” My face heated up and he went on. “That’s actually pretty good advice. But like all advice, it’s a helluva lot easier said than done.”

  I gave him a tentative smile. “I know.”

  He ran his hands through my hair, massaging my scalp. “How’d you get so wise when you’re so young?”

  “I stole most of my wisdom from my brother. I think losing our parents and being the oldest just made him grow up too fast.”

  He chuckled, soft and low. “I wish I could have met him.”

  My lips trembled. “I wish you could have met him too.”

  8

  Jet

  If there was a heaven on earth, I was in it and I didn’t want to ever leave. And that scared the shit out of me.

  Jasmin sat on my lap, her arms looped around my shoulders, fingers brushing along my neck, easing what was left of the tension in me. For the first time since Jasper had told me the truth, I was at peace inside. She didn’t tell me it was my fault, she didn’t tell me it wasn’t my fault. With very few words, the guilt I’d been carrying was almost completely wiped away. It would always hurt, I think, mostly because I loved my little brother, and even now felt it was my job to protect him.

  But because of one green-eyed Spitfire that wouldn’t let me wallow in my own shit bucket, I was starting to see it wasn’t my fault that it had happened. I smiled as I thought about her way of putting things, and the guilt eased a little more. She was right, but to hear someone else say it the way she had, someone who didn’t look at me like I should have done something more . . . it made all the difference in the world.

  “Should we head back soon?” She asked, though she made no move to get up. She’d opened herself to me, let me see into her fear, the deep dark pain, and grief of losing her brother and her parents.

  At least I still had Jasper, even if he hated me.

  “Do you want to go back?”

  She took a deep breath and her breasts rose, brushing against my chest. “No, this is nice. I like it here. I feel . . . safe with you.”

  I slipped my hands further up her spine, fingers massaging her silky bare skin feeling my body harden in response to the shift in her body. With my lips, I traced up the side of her neck, down again, across the hollow of her throat and up the other side of her jaw. I couldn’t get enough of her, not even if I never let her go. She was the balm to my soul and the hurts of the past were muted when I was with her.

  Just a little more and I’d let her go, push her away. Because that was the right thing to do, because she deserved better than me. But not yet. Not quite yet.

  A soft moan whispered past her lips. “Jet. I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

  “Just kisses, I promised. Nothing else. Not even if you beg.”

  My hands skimmed around to her taut, flat belly, the skin jumping under my fingers, quivering at the light touch. Her arms stayed wrapped around my neck, but she turned, seating herself on my lap facing me, long legs draped on either side of my hips.

  The heat between her legs beckoned to me and I grabbed her ass, grinding upward, letting a moan out as she arched against me, breasts brushing tantalizingly close to my mouth.

  “You said just kissing,” she whispered.

  “Our clothes are still on.”

  She pursed her lips as if she was upset. “Good point. So it doesn’t count if clothes are on then?”

  I didn’t need to hold her hips, she swiveled, finding a sweet spot for both of us. I pinched her jaw between my fingers and drew her lips to mine. Hot need flashed through me and I fought it back, knowing all the reasons why we shouldn’t and wanting her anyway.

  Her hands slipped between us, she pushed my shirt up, worked her way across my chest, fingernails scraping me, teasing my nipple ring. A panting breath, a groan, escaped my lips, and again I pushed my hips against her, cursing inwardly at the clothing between us.

  No.

  Jasmin wasn’t like the other girls. She wasn’t the girl you took home for a night.

  She was the girl you took home forever.

  The thought skittered around my brain and I tried it on for size. Considered the implications, and then cast it all aside. I wouldn’t think about that now, not here. This wasn’t forever, I’d already decided that. She was just for now, for this moment, and then I’d let her go—after all, she deserved so much more than I could give.

  I sucked at her lips, teased her mouth as I wanted to do to other parts of her, dipped my tongue in deep, sliding in and out, slow and steady as my hands tightened on her pert ass. God, I wanted her naked, wanted to feel her skin hot under me, feel her warmth circle my hardness and drag me under whatever spell it was she wove around me. Her breath came in little heaving drags, faster with each one, as did my own. Each moment that passed, our bodies stayed on this side of the precipice simply based on the thin layer of clothing between us. Without it, we would have been long gone into orbit.

  It took everything I had to pull back, to lift her off my lap, put her beside me, and not touch her. “Just . . . give me a minute.”

  Hands on my knees, I leaned forward. Think of something else, anything else but her. Anything. But I couldn’t. It was as if someone had left my screen saver on too long and now the picture was burned into me. I couldn’t evict her from my brain. That was not good, not good at all. One night stands, women you forget in the morning. That was the way to do things. A shiver of uncertainty, almost fear if I didn’t know better, smacked into my desire, cooling it better than anything else could.

  Fear Nothing? Maybe I could amend that to fear nothing, except the green-eyed girl who seemed to be stealing my soul.

  “I’m sorry, that was so unprofessional of me. I don’t want you to think I do this with all my assignments,” she said and my head snapped up.

  “Unprofessional?”

  She swallowed hard, and scooted backward on the flat rock. “Yes, I mean, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Spill your guts?”

  Her dark hair slid over her shoulders as she nodded. “That.”

  “Kiss me as your body begged for more?” She went bright red, her cheeks two flaming spots that I wanted to rub against, feel the heat for myself. This was madness, hadn’t I just been thinking she wasn’t for me?

  “Yes, that too.”

  “You regret this?” Just saying the words was a knife in me. I hadn’t asked for much in my life, but please God don’t let her regret this. Don’t let her regret me. Not in this moment.

  Her eyes flashed. “Never!”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  She deflated, her shoulders slumping. “I can’t be with you. I’ll lose my job, the bills from Ryan’s cancer treatments are huge—”

  “That’s it? The job is the only thing between us?” I knew in my gut that wasn’t it. Maybe she was embarrassed to be seen with someone who was an idiot on screen. I’d known she was too good for me, right from the start. Now was the final nail in the coffin. I’d heard it before, from girls. “You’d embarrass me in front of my friends, family. I don’t want to be seen with you. You’re too much of a fool.”

  Reaching over, she took my hand in hers, turning it over so she could touch my palm. “I can’t go through it again. Losing someone I love. And if I stay with you, I know what will happen. I’ll fall for you, it’s happening already, and then you’ll do a stunt and something will go wrong and I’ll be alone again, my heart shattered. I can’t do it. Not again. It’s too high risk for me. I’m sorry.” She stood, stumbling over her feet in her haste to get away from me, and bolted from the clearing, climbing the short ascent and disappearing into the canopy of the forest. I watched her go, long legs eating up the distance, dark hair sweeping out behind her, stunned at her honesty.

  Weren’t women supposed to be mysterious and confusing? Wasn’t that their prerogative? To keep men guessing and wondering what the
hell was going on inside their heads? Yet here she was, open with me in a way that left her exposed, showed me how very raw she was under her facade. I knew her secrets, knew her desires, knew she wanted me. Fear was all that was holding her back. Fear I understood, had learned to conquer. Even if that same fear was circling around my head, waiting for me to give into it.

  Her words rattled around in my head, foreign and mind blowing.

  A part of me knew she was right—most of me knew she was right. This whole thing, whatever it was between us, was a bad idea. A shitty idea. An idea that wouldn’t leave me no matter what I tried.

  She was just like all the other girls. She couldn’t be more different.

  Jasmin didn’t really want me. Except her body claimed otherwise.

  This was a fucked up idea that would leave us both hurt. Now that was the truth.

  Climbing back up into the forest, a muffled sob reached out to me, nearly stopping my heart. Was she hurt?

  No, she hadn’t gone far, and she wasn’t hurt. I’d thought I was going to have to chase her down to her hotel again.

  She crouched beside the hanging vines that would let her back out to the path, arms over her head, face buried against her knees. I crouched down beside her, ran my fingers along her hairline sweeping the long dark strands back behind her ears. “Couldn’t find your way out?”

  “My zipper on my suitcase is broken,” she said the words as if they should make sense to me, muffled into her arm, and I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right.

  “Your suitcase is broken, and that’s why you’re crying?”

  She laughed, her shoulders shaking. “No . . . I can’t leave until I get a new suitcase. And I have to go . . . .”

  Taking her hands I stood, drawing her to her feet. “You have to go so you don’t fall in love with me.” I was joking of course, trying to lighten the mood by being a goof as usual.

  Her tongue darted out, touching the tip to the center of her top lip, beckoning me closer. “Yes, that’s the whole of it, I guess.”