Bleeding Hearts: The Complete Duet

by A. Zavarelli

  I bit down on my lip and gave him a little nod. And then he was inside of me.

  “Oh, fucking Christ...” he muttered. “Ah… God, I’ve missed this. You feel so good, baby girl. So fucking wet.”

  He gripped my hips with bruising fingers, rocking me back and forth along his arousal. He was harder than I’d ever felt him, his eyes heavy with lust and pleasure. He didn’t have to tell me this was where he felt he belonged. I could see it written all over his face.

  “Give in to me,” he pleaded, gripping my face in his hands. “Say you’ll be mine again.”

  I buried my face in the space between his shoulder and his neck, wrapping my arms around him tightly. I couldn’t give him what he wanted. Not this time.

  “Brighton.” His voice cracked as his touch grew rougher. Hard fingers dug into my hips, his teeth marking my body everywhere they skimmed. He was desperate to claim me. Tears clung to my lashes as he pressed me against his chest, his heart hammering against mine.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked. “It doesn’t beat without you. I need you.”

  I couldn’t stand to hear his sweet words. I couldn’t be pulled back into that vortex. So I pulled his face to mine and kissed him until we were both gasping for air. His fingers slipped between us, touching me in the place I so desperately needed. My head fell back, and my eyes squeezed shut as every nerve inside of me flared to life.

  “I’m the only one who can give you this,” he murmured. “You know it’s true, Brighton. I’ll always be the only one…”

  I exploded around him, crushing his shoulders with the grip of my fingers as I thrashed against him until I thought I might pass out. It had been so long. Too damn long. My contractions set him off soon after, and his face twisted into a mixture of agony and bliss as he uttered a throaty groan against my neck.

  One last deep thrust and he was convulsing inside of me. “I love you,” he clipped out. “So fucking much.”

  I let my body weight melt against his chest, and he stroked my back, maintaining the connection between us. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to keep the tears from falling. How could something so bad feel so right? How could I love this man so much? It was killing me, and I was only making it harder on both of us by allowing this to continue.

  So with more strength than I felt, I pulled away and put myself together again. Ryland watched me carefully, and when I glanced out the window, I realized we were parked outside of my apartment already.

  “Come home with me,” he begged.

  I couldn’t look at him as my hand reached for the door handle. “I can’t, Ryland.”

  “Brighton…” His voice filled with desperation. “I’ll never be able to sleep knowing you’re here. This is too much. I know you want to punish me, but…”

  “I’m not punishing you,” I whispered. “I’m really not, Ryland. I forgive you for the accident, okay. And I’m grateful for what you’re doing for Norma. I… I honestly don’t even know what to say about it. But right now, it doesn’t change anything between us. You and Brayden…”

  “I’m done with that,” he insisted. “What do I have to do to convince you?”

  I glanced back into his tormented eyes and shook my head. I honestly didn’t know what he could do to convince me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I would always be wondering. And if something happened to Brayden while I was with him, I would never forgive myself for it.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” I answered. “I just need you to go home, Ryland. Go home and… live your life. The life you had before me.”

  “There was nothing before you,” he protested. “And there’s nothing without you. Don’t you get that?”

  He was getting frustrated. But that was good. It meant he believed this was what I wanted.

  “Goodnight, Ryland.” I opened the door and stepped outside.

  ***

  I was on the sofa, stuffing my face full of Wasabi chips when Nicole walked in.

  She set her bags down on the counter and gave me a weird look. “You do know there’s a body guard outside the door, right?”

  My head fell back against the sofa with a groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Honestly…” Nicole muttered, “don’t hate me for saying this, but it kind of makes me feel a little better. There are some creepy guys hanging out in the hallway, and I hate walking past them.”

  “I know,” I admitted. “You’re right. But if I accept this, then it’s just opening the door for him to keep doing stuff like this.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She worried her lip between her teeth. “He’ll probably tell Matt about this now, and he’s going to freak. I bet you anything they team up on this.”

  She looked hopeful, and I agreed with her. Of course, Matt cared about her, but Nicole was still trying to push him away at every opportunity she got. I didn’t understand it. After their last spat, she hadn’t heard from him in over two weeks.

  She was moping around, pretending it didn’t bother her. And no matter how much I urged her, she wouldn’t call him. I guess I really didn’t have room to talk though.

  I had a lot of thinking to do where Ryland was concerned. But for now, I refused to rush into any decisions.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brighton

  Security didn’t even hesitate to let me into the building. I don’t know why that surprised me, but it did. They told me Ryland had a standing invitation for me and to go on up. I stepped off the elevator and walked down his hallway. The place was deserted, which was for the best. I didn’t need the other employees around for this.

  It felt like a lifetime ago that I was here. The place seemed different in the dim evening lights. A sad, empty feeling filled the space that I’d spent so much time before. A glance at my desk, and I noticed there weren’t any personal mementos from whoever had taken over my position. It didn’t even look like it was being used.

  Ryland’s door was cracked, and I peeked inside to find him sitting at his desk. He wasn’t working though. He was just leaning back with his head against the chair, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were shadowed by dark circles, and he looked exhausted.

  I hated that. I hoped he was taking care of himself. I hoped that I wasn’t the cause of those dark circles. I pushed the door open, and his eyes shot to mine. They flickered with surprise, and then he was up, walking towards me before he could stop himself.

  “Brighton?”

  “I’m fine,” I assured him. “But I wanted to come and talk to you in person.”

  “Okay.”

  He took my hand and pulled me over to the sofa. I didn’t resist because it was good to feel his skin against mine. If only for a moment.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  He looked like he was choosing his words carefully. As though he were afraid anything he might say or do could scare me off. I hated that too. I didn’t want him to feel like that. Things were so complicated between us, and I honestly didn’t know where to begin.

  I’d toyed with the idea of breaking the news to him today. But I still didn’t know if I should. What if he didn’t want anything to do with this? The thought was unbearable.

  “Look, Ryland…” I paused. “I want to talk about that guy you have following me everywhere.”

  He closed his eyes and sank back against the couch. He didn’t even have the energy to fight, which was so unlike him.

  “Just humor me, baby girl,” he pleaded. “What does it hurt? He’s there to protect you.”

  He didn’t get it, and he never would. I had my father to thank for that.

  “I just don’t like that he’s reporting everything I do back to you,” I said.

  Ryland opened his eyes and stared at me, unmoving. “Why?” he asked. “Is there something you don’t want me to know?”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, fighting the urge to look down. I’d worn a baggy sweatshirt, so there was no way he could see.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.


  “I mean is there another man I need to know about?”

  His expression was so tense that I couldn’t help it. I reached out and smoothed my hand along his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into it.

  “Brighton.”

  His voice was hoarse, and it sent my pulse skyrocketing. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. But I leaned forward and kissed him. Again.

  I wanted to slap myself.

  My lips had barely brushed against his when he tugged me onto his lap. My blood heated at the feeling of his hard body beneath me. God, I missed this. I’d been having withdrawals since the last time I’d seen him, and now it was becoming harder and harder to refuse.

  I just needed to feel him, just one more time. That’s what I told myself as I reached down and tugged on his zipper. His hands were everywhere, inching up my skirt, stroking my thighs. I was deliriously high from the effect he had on me.

  “God, I miss you so much.” He buried his nose in my hair and inhaled, rocking his erection against my palm. “It hurts, baby.”

  He was painfully swollen, and I needed him inside of me. I tugged my panties aside and pushed myself down onto him. He moaned and jerked beneath me, his fingers tightening their grips on my thighs. It was painful and possessive, and I missed that too.

  But when he tried to tug my shirt off, I had to distract him. So I leaned in and brushed my lips over his throat, alternating between bites and kisses. True to his nature, he loved it.

  “Do you feel how hard you make me?” he squeezed my ass in his hands. “You’re mine, Brighton. You’ll never stop being mine. No matter what.”

  I didn’t know who he was trying to convince, but I couldn’t acknowledge that statement. He was right. I would always belong to him, heart and soul. He was the only man I ever wanted to give my body to. But what I wanted and what I needed were two different things.

  Right now, for this moment, I just needed to put it all out of my mind. So I rocked down against him, enjoying the feeling of being connected to him in this way. My beautifully damaged Ryland. My light and my darkness.

  Tears fell down my cheeks, and he kissed them away. He told me how much he needed me. How he’d do anything to make it up to me. And I cried harder. I cried for the loss of him. For the loss of this. I didn’t know how I was going to survive without it.

  And when I combusted around him, I cried because it was all over. He followed soon after, but he didn’t pull out. He just wrapped his arms around me like a vice, crushing me against his chest. I knew he wanted to say something. He was biding his time, waiting for the right moment. He thought that would make a difference.

  “Come home with me,” he whispered against me. “Come home to our bed and let me take care of you.”

  Oh, God. I did not think this through. I pulled away from him, despite his resistance, and adjusted my clothes.

  “I can’t, Ryland.”

  “You can,” he insisted.

  I had to tear my eyes away from him. I couldn’t bear to see the hope that lived there. I was an awful human being. I hated myself right then.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized weakly. “I have to go.”

  “Brighton…” He tried to stand, but I bolted out the door before he could even get his pants zipped.

  I made it to the elevator and pressed the close button repeatedly until the doors started to slide shut. Just before they did, I saw him round the corner, looking like he’d just lost me forever.

  And I guess, in a way he had.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ryland

  Guess who’d come to pay yours truly a visit? No, not her. Not my little lotus flower.

  I’m referring to my old friend darkness. No big surprise there, of course. But this time, it threatened to devour me. Coaxing me deeper into that empty abyss, welcoming with open arms. It’d be easy to fall into that trap again. But one image quashed any thoughts of self-pity I may have entertained.

  Want to have a stab at what it could be?

  Not necessary, I’d tell you anyway. It was Brighton, crumpled into a tiny pocket of metal. Blood coating her legs, a ghastly white face beneath the light of the moon while I clutched a revolver in my hand. A revolver I’d held to her brother’s head only moments before, oblivious to the fact that my girl… my life… was suffering from my actions.

  If ever there had been a moment suspended in time, it was that one. I hardly believed it was real. That my recklessness could have caused such a horrific and unexpected outcome. My body attempted in vain to reach her before my mind ever caught up. But I couldn’t. It was history, repeated. Only this time, I’d orchestrated everything myself. The only light in my life was slipping away, and there was nobody else to blame. It wasn’t Brayden. It wasn’t Frankie, or Alfredo, or my father. It was me.

  A gun is a cowardly way to kill someone. Also a merciful one. In my mind, it hadn’t gone down like that at all. Brayden was meant to suffer- as I had. But I’d gotten sloppy. Impatient. The longer the situation with Brighton continued, the more I doubted my intentions. It boiled down to revenge, or her. I just needed to get it over with, I decided. Let the chips fall where they may.

  Funny thing about Karma. She’s a bitch.

  I knew I deserved Brighton’s loathing. Her hatred. Her venomous words. I’d take all of it and more, so long as she was in my arms again. But still. Fresh ideas were scarce, and the old were well and truly exhausted. For a man who thrived on planning out his every move with meticulous care, this was a dangerous thing.

  But you already knew that, right?

  Know what’s worse than cold turkey? Just a little bump. One tiny sip to take the edge off. The edges never went away, they only got sharper. Every addict would tell you. Gray areas couldn’t exist in a sober environment.

  This game of cat and mouse was doing my fucking head in. There was a time when Brighton trusted me to know what was right for her. I’d taken for granted what a beautiful thing her trust was. Now it had withered up and died like everything else.

  Left to my own devices, I’d sit and stare at the empty walls of my office all day and drink myself to death. Hypocritical, no? Few men handled this type of emotional baggage well, and I- even less. Word was spreading round the building like a serpent, employees whispering behind my back at every turn. Neither here nor there, really. Let them talk. But it was the sympathetic glances that unraveled me.

  While we’re delving into the past, I may as well tell you why I changed my name. My father ensured the media coverage was locked down and sealed up tight. His last ditch effort at protecting me, he’d finally done something properly.

  Frankie’s crew hadn’t a clue I existed until I had the balls to walk up and face them myself. Probably, they inspired fear in most of the average joes to pay a little visit to their HQ, but I had nothing left to lose. So I made a deal. A deal with the devil himself.

  Once they knew of me and we had an agreement in place, I settled on the next course of action. Changing my name didn’t buy me safety. I did that on my own. But it bought me something else. An out from the irreverent pity and half-hearted condolences.

  I didn’t want pity. I wanted my fucking revenge.

  That little nugget of hope kept me warm at night. Until Brighton. Now I didn’t even have her. I’d given them both up, and what had it gotten me?

  A whole lot of fucking misery, that’s what.

  But if being miserable was the cost of weathering this storm, so be it. I’d made my bed of nails, and I was content to lie in it. Patience wasn’t one of my virtues, but for her, I’d try. Five years of lying in wait had already done a number on my tolerance level. In a way, I blamed this for things imploding so badly. The anticipation really was too much for me. By the time I finally got hands on her, self-control was in short supply. More beast than man at that point, I’d allowed myself to indulge in every dark fantasy I ever had.

  Five years was a long time to stew on all the sick and twisted shit you want to do. I reasoned that
Brighton could fulfill whatever childlike dreams she entertained in her head by then. She could go to prom and date nice boys. Or bad ones, with her family history. I wasn’t exactly certain which way the pendulum would swing. She blindsided me completely when I took her innocence.

  It all snowballed from there. If you haven’t already gathered this about me, I was completely hedonistic. Some might say selfish. Entitled. Whatever label you want to give it, I always got my way. And until Brighton understood this, I just needed to learn how to bide my time. Find a new direction. One that didn’t involve killing Brayden. Because I would have her. She was already mine, and this stalemate couldn’t go on forever. I’d see it through, till’ she came back to me.

  She had to. Right?

  My dicking around and day drinking was interrupted by Matt poking his head into my office. Ah, perfect. Another shitty item on my agenda. Mind you, I was doing this for Nicole.

  “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

  I nodded and gestured to the chair. He sat down. “Heard from Nicole, lately?”

  He shook his head and stared at the floor. Guess I wasn’t the only sap in the room.

  “That makes two of us then.”

  I walked over to the cabinet in my office and rummaged through my whiskey collection. Jack, Jim, Johnnie… the boys were all there. Something stronger was in order for what came next. It wasn’t often in my life I admitted regret, but it’d been happening an awful frigging lot as of late.

  Would Jackson see it as a betrayal? I imagined myself in his shoes. Wondered what I’d want for Brighton if I wasn’t around. Nobody could ever love her the way I did. The thought alone made me want to crack some skulls. But if I wasn’t there, she’d need someone to take care of her. I was too blind to admit before that Nicole did too.

  “I need to talk to you,” I began. “About Jackson.”

  Matt’s face grew wary, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand why. I hadn’t mentioned Jackson’s name since he died. The one time Matt tried to bring it up, I clocked him in the jaw. Needless to say, it’d been a dead subject ever since.