Naked Love

by Ann, Jewel

  Avery lifts the top of the bun to her chickpea sandwich, probably looking for bacon. “Maybe.”

  “Avery’s back to giving massages, mostly barefoot bar.” Deedy adds. “But it’s only part-time.”

  Avery has a true fan club today. That’s good. She deserves it.

  I take a bite of my sandwich and wait for Avery to look at me, but she doesn’t. “I know the owner of the cafe downstairs. He has a part-time opening if you can run a blender and a juicer.”

  This gets her attention. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

  I shrug. “No guarantee. I’m just saying I could put in a good word for you.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Sydney grins.

  Avery whips her head toward her sister, shooting her a traitorous scowl.

  “What? It does. It’s a job. Not a career. It will help give you back some independence until you can regroup and figure out where you want to be long term.”

  Avery takes a bite of her food and doesn’t say another word or look at anyone for the rest of lunch.

  “Can we go to the beach now?” Ocean tugs on Sydney’s arm.

  “Yes, sweetie. You two coming?”

  “Absolutely.” Deedy sets the rest of the dishes by the kitchen sink and gives me a sideways glance while lowering her voice. “Her family wants to know what you did to her. They say she’s not the same person she was before the trip.”

  I lift a questioning brow at Deedy for a few seconds then glance back at Avery and Sydney, who aren’t paying attention to us. “I … I don’t know.” My gaze returns to Deedy.

  “Why’d you hurt her?”

  “I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t know how to deal with … things.”

  “And by things you mean you didn’t think before you lashed out about something that wasn’t her fault?”

  Rubbing my hand over my face, I mumble my frustration with a low groan and take another quick glance over my shoulder. “Yes. It’s just that in the moment, when she told me about the affair, it took me back to everything Meg went through, and it felt like Avery was partly to blame.”

  “She told you about the affair?”

  I nod.

  Deedy leans closer, keeping her voice low. “She voluntarily told you about it, and you acted that way?”

  Another nod.

  “You fucked up.”

  My head jerks back. Missionary Deedy dropping the F-bomb is a new experience for me.

  “Well …” She smirks, picking invisible lint from the sleeve of my T-shirt. “There’s really no other good way to say it. Avery is my family now, but you are too. So, figure out a way to make things amicable.”

  I shrug. “They are. We just ate lunch together. We did fine at the wedding.”

  “No. She’s being fake friendly for my benefit. She’s secretly hating you because she loves you, and you changed her. Now she doesn’t know what the hell to do with herself. You fucked her up. Fix it.”

  “Ocean used the restroom. Let’s go, ladies.” Sydney interrupts our hushed conversation. “Ave?” Sydney tugs on the hem of Avery’s shirt to get her attention.

  Avery looks up over her shoulder, standing close to the window by my bed. “No.” She glances at me. “I need to have a few words with Jake.”

  Sydney nods, jerking her head toward the door to the stairs. Ocean and Deedy follow her.

  “We’ll be back in an hour or so. Sound good?” Deedy lifts an eyebrow at Avery.

  She nods.

  Then Deedy scowls at me with a stern warning in her eyes, just before the door clicks shut behind them.

  Avery walks to the middle of the room again, rubbing her hands down the front of her skirt three times. I ease into my recliner and wait for her to set the tone for whatever is supposed to be said.

  “Deedy told me about Gavin’s death.”

  I try to clench my jaw and hold still to hide my reaction. The day will never come that his name alone doesn’t cause every muscle in my body to tighten with regret. It was an accident. I know it, but it doesn’t change the consequences. Bad things happen all the time as a result of an accident. Gavin died. He was a good person. My mom died. She was a good person. Megan’s baby died. He was perfect and completely innocent. But my father—the opposite of good and innocent—still walks the earth.

  So. Fucking. Unfair.

  “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I unknowingly slept with a married man. I’m sorry I tried to poison you. I’m sorry you got roped into taking Swarley and me on your special road trip. I’m sorry for every second of inconvenience, for the oxygen I stole from your sacred little bubble.”

  “I never asked for an apology.”

  “I’m not apologizing for you. I’m apologizing to you.” She turns her back to me, once again, staring at the black and white photo.

  I just want to hold her and make things right.

  After a minute or two of silence, her posture deflates. “Part of me wishes I would have known you when this photo was taken. I would have loved to have been the girl waiting in your corner. I would have loved to have known that Jake … the fearless one who didn’t hold onto his anger. This …” She steps closer to the photo.

  “This was the stripped-down version of you. This was your acoustic song. I know this because when I left Megan’s house, I felt like how you look in this photo—battered. Nearly broken. Exhausted. Unrecognizable. But…” she turns back toward me with tears in her eyes “…also victorious. Stronger. Changed. You did that. You gave me a fight when I needed it. You taught me to take a punch and get back up. You showed me that what we see on the outside can be very deceiving. A scar doesn’t mean you were weak. A scar means you survived. A scar is a badge of strength.”

  When she blinks, several tears slide down her cheeks, but she doesn’t move to wipe them away. “You left scars, but now I’m stronger. So … thank you.”

  “I love you, Avery.” The words tumble out. I hate how empty they probably sound to her, but it’s all that’s in my head and my heart.

  She nods, slowly brushing away the tears and sniffling. “I know you do. But it won’t last because it was built on something weak—your expectations of me. And I can’t stand on those forever. I will stumble and fall. I will crash and crumble. And eventually, I won’t be recognizable to you because you’ll always remember me at my best, when loving me was easy.”

  “That’s not true.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

  “Isn’t it? I think you see your mom in my fragility. You definitely see Francine in the things I like. And I think when I told you about my relationship with Megan’s husband, you saw your father in me. I’m this all-encompassing demon you’re determined to slay. If you can love me in spite of all the things you hate about me, then you win.”

  “You’re running. That’s what this is. You’re running, and you’re blaming it on me.”

  She chuckles, shaking her head and slipping her fingers into her front pockets again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re the runner. You’re the one who will be leaving for Milwaukee. And that’s okay. I’m okay, Jake. But not in spite of you. I’m okay because of you.”

  There’s a clawing need just under my skin, a need that makes my heart race. I don’t want us to end, but I don’t know what to say.

  The words. The fucking words.

  If I could just hand her my heart, wouldn’t that be enough? Would it have to be served with some grand explanation?

  Here, Ave. Take it. It’s yours.

  If it’s not I’m sorry or I love you, then what is it?

  How can she look so beautiful, so resigned to what’s happened yet so confident at the same time when this is unraveling every fiber of my heart?

  She smiles. It’s stunning and real. “I’m going to find them at the beach.”

  “I leave in two weeks. Maybe we could …” Desperation twists and crashes around in my head like a tornado. “Have dinner or something before I leave.” I stand, slipping my hands into my pockets, mirroring her. T
hese hands itch to touch her, but I don’t think she’s mine to touch anymore.

  Rolling her lips together, she nods a half dozen times. “Maybe breakfast or lunch downstairs? We can discuss my part-time employment at your cafe. I need another job for awhile.” She shrugs. “I’m willing to swallow my pride and admit it.”

  “The job is yours.”

  “No.” She holds up a hand. “You interview me. Hire me only if you find my qualifications acceptable. I don’t want any coworkers thinking I got the job out of pity or because I slept with the boss.”

  “It’s running a juicer and blender. Seth makes all the other food. I’m sure you’re plenty qualified.”

  Her lips twist. I want to kiss them. I want to drop to my knees and beg for time to rewind.

  “But…” I step closer, leaving a few inches between her bare feet and mine “…I’ll train you before I head back home.”

  “Home,” she whispers, staring at our feet.

  “Ave …” I take the final step and cup the side of her face.

  She leans into my touch, closing her eyes, face wrinkled like it pains her.

  “I miss you so fucking much. And I know it’s somehow not enough, but I am truly sorry for what I said to you, for how I treated you. If I could take it back, I would.”

  Her hand covers mine as she draws in a shaky breath. “I miss your touch.”

  Inching closer, I feather my lips across her opposite check. “Then let me touch you.”

  “Jake …”

  My mouth covers hers, swallowing her weak plea. Her hands press to my chest and curl into fists, bringing me closer, deepening our kiss.

  Please don’t stop … Please let me show you what you mean to me.

  Her tongue slides into my mouth.

  My hands slide into her hair.

  We moan in unison.

  How could I forget how much I love kissing this woman? She tastes like the orange and lime slices in the water. Her hair has a soft floral scent. And her skin … it’s all my hands ever want to touch. She’s just … all I ever want.

  “St—stop.” She pulls away breathless, pressing the pads of her fingers to her lips, wide blue eyes unblinking. “I’m not her.” Her head inches side to side. “I’m not the girl you can manipulate with a kiss or empty promises. Not anymore.”

  “Ave …” I run my fingers through my hair. “I’m not manipulating you.”

  “You are. You’re distracting me. And you’re good at it, but … it’s all wrong. You can’t throw out temporary apologies and half-ass I love you’s just to get into my panties.”

  “I …” My jaw falls open and stays there. How can she honestly believe that?

  Because that’s all she’s ever known.

  “I don’t want into your panties. I want into your heart, into your life.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that you don’t want into my panties?” She crosses her arms over her chest, flipping her hip out to the side.

  My eyes roll to the ceiling while I rest my hands on my hips, blowing out a slow breath. “I like what’s in your panties—a lot. But …” I return my attention to meet her expectant gaze. “I want you and all that that encompasses.”

  “Don’t.” She shakes her head, more emotion pooling in her eyes. “When I told you about Steve, you didn’t grumble and clench your fists like I scratched the side of your truck. You basically called me a whore, a home-wrecker, a baby killer.”

  “No, Ave …”

  “Yes. Yes, Jake. That’s how much you love me. I was honest with you, and you punished me for it. You just … gave up on us.”

  “I’m not giving up on us.” I step forward.

  Avery steps back. “You did. And now that I’m put back together, you can’t just waltz into my life and decide you want me again. And you have no one to blame for it but yourself. You told me to stand the fuck up for myself. Well … this is me. And I’m not letting any man treat me like a whore ever again.” She slips on her sandals and grabs the door handle. Then … she freezes.

  It takes me a few seconds to figure out what’s captured her attention. Releasing the handle, she picks up a ripped piece of paper from the entry table next to the door.

  “Oh my god …” she whispers.

  I close my eyes and sigh.

  “You … you did this.”

  My eyes open as she slowly turns toward me, holding up the paper with Anthony Bianchi’s address on it.

  “You’re the reason he gave me back my stuff. The money … the phone … it was you.”

  I don’t respond. Not even a flinch.

  “How …” She shakes her head, brow wrinkled. “How did you get this address? Sydney?”

  Deedy got it from Sydney, but I don’t say that.

  “What did you do? Did you threaten him? Beat him up?”

  I paid him a visit. There were subtle threats. He cooperated, so I didn’t have to beat him up. I would have. I would kill for her. But I don’t say that either.

  “Why?” she whispers.

  “You know why.”

  Her gaze slips. She lets the piece of paper fall from her hand. And then she leaves.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Avery

  A week later, I stare at the string of texts from Jake. It was so nice of Deedy to give him my new number.

  Jake: The job is yours.

  Jake: We can have an interview if you feel better about it. Noon tomorrow? Bring a resume.

  Jake: Are you getting these messages?

  Jake: I tried calling you. The voice mailbox isn’t set up.

  Jake: Fine, Ave. It’s been a week with no response. I get the message. Hope you found another job. I’m heading back to Milwaukee this weekend. I’m sincerely sorry. I wish you only the best.

  This weekend. That’s three days away.

  “Taking off?” Heather, my friend who hired me to do barefoot bar massages, looks up as I slide my purse strap onto my shoulder.

  “Yeah. If anything comes up, let me know. I can definitely fill in if one of the other girls calls in sick.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Avery.”

  I resist the urge to take my tiny paycheck and shop for a new handbag … it’s still hard to live on a budget. Old habits. Instead, I drive to Sydney’s house and hope to catch lunch with my sister and my favorite little people.

  “Hello?” I slip off my sandals and shut the back door.

  “Mom’s sick. I want to swim. Will you watch us?” Ocean shuffles into the kitchen, still in her pink nightshirt.

  I cringe. “Well, I don’t want to get sick, and you two squirts don’t need to get sick, so yeah … let’s hang out by the pool today. Have you had lunch?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Okay. I’ll make some snacks. We’ll eat outside.”

  Ocean runs off. “Asher, put on your swimsuit!”

  I peek into Sydney’s room. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she mumbles, not opening her eyes or even moving from her fetal position.

  “Did you call Dr. Lautner?”

  “No. He has a conference today. I’m sick, not dying.”

  “Anything I can get you?”

  “No. The kids want to swim.”

  “I’m on it. Text me if you need anything.”

  “A bowl. I need a bowl. In case I don’t make it to the toilet.”

  “Eww … Okay.” I get her a bowl, surgically scrub my hands after leaving her room, and change into my bikini.

  I perch myself in the shade, on lifeguard duty. As the kids play, I stare at Jake’s texts again. “Why did it have to be you?” I whisper.

  Me: Can we do the interview tomorrow?

  I stare at my screen for a good five minutes, waiting for a response that’s not coming. As soon as I slip my sunglasses back on, my phone chimes.

  Jake: I hired someone this morning. Sorry.

  Did I do this to myself? Is this my pride and ego? How do I know where that line is if I can’t see it? And I can’t … I can’t see t
he line. Everything in my life is blurry.

  Grunting a laugh, I shake my head. I honestly thought he was making up the job opening—for me. Because he loves me. Because he’d do anything to keep us connected, even if it’s in a small way like making me his employee halfway across the country. Another epic fail on my part. More bad judgment and inaccurate assumptions.

  Me: Glad you found someone.

  Jake: Thank you.

  Me: You’re welcome.

  “Nice, Avery …” I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Really? I just had to say you’re welcome. Why? Clearly because I can’t let go.

  Jake’s on this infinitely long string, and no matter how far he goes, I will always feel that string connected to my heart, tugging and pulling. Reminding me that what we had was real.

  “What we had was real.” My hand presses to my chest.

  My phone chimes again.

  Jake: If you need your own space, or if you get evicted from your sister’s house, you can stay in my loft while I’m in Milwaukee.

  I grin. There’s no way I’m staying in his loft, but the fact that he’s offering it—that he feels the pull of that string—it makes everything inside of me come to life.

  Why did it have to be Jake? The meanie. The bully. The crass-mouthed, over-tatted vegan. Why did my heart choose to take up residency in his lethal hands?

  Me: Thank you for the offer. I’ll be fine.

  Jake: I have no doubt that you’ll be fine.

  Ouch. Letting go of Jake, in spite of all the terrible words that have been exchanged, feels like ripping off a Band-Aid one tiny millimeter at a time. Is this a mistake? Will my pride win at the expense of my happiness?

  Me: But …

  I draw in a slow breath of courage as the midday sun shifts just enough to steal my shade.

  Me: On the off chance that I’m not fine. Knowing where you hide a key would be nice.

  Me: If you’re okay with that.