by K. L. Jessop
He grins. “Well, how many women has that been now? Five in your twenty-six years on earth?”
I give him the finger. “Fucker.”
“So, you two are good now, yes?”
I shrug, bringing my glass to my lips for a drink. “We were up until we went to yours today. She started her round of questions again on who Dexter Wilson is.” I emphasise my name with air quotes. “Then I got riled up and yelled at her.”
“Dex, you need to stop that shit.”
“She seems to take it.”
He shakes his head. “That’s beside the point. Just because she’s all smiley and sarcastic doesn’t mean she’s got it easy, you know. She’s having a tough time, too.”
My thoughts go to the tattoo on her back and the melancholy I saw in her eyes moments before I’d left. Pepper doesn’t look like the type of woman to have a story—not the sort she needs to hide behind a smile—but I want to know. Ironically, even though I’m reluctant to give her details of my life, I want to know everything about who she is, and it bothers me that my friend here clearly knows more of her than I do.
I look at him. “You know her story?”
“Not all of it. But Pepper’s not the only one that’s lost someone they love, Dexter. She has more in common with you than you realise. Stop being so hard on her and let yourself enjoy her company. You clearly gave her your time when you got physical. So, try talking to her for a change and let her in a little.”
Like the big brother figure he is, he clears the table and lets me sit in silence, considering what he’s just said. I take this moment to get a cigar and head back out to the rooftop, wanting to be close to the city lights and to try gather my thoughts that have now spiralled.
How can I even consider letting her in when I’ve shut everyone out over the years for good reason? I’m not this person all the time, and when I’m not, I’m nothing more than ugly, right down to my very soul. I’m a heartless prick when it comes to those offering their help because I don’t believe I’m worthy of it. How can I extend my inner circle and bring Pepper into it? I can’t risk hurting her more than I already have.
I puff out the smoke of my cigar as Emmet comes and stands beside me, another drink in his hand. I can’t help but smirk. He’s not much of a drinker but there are times when he lets loose.
“Take it you’re sleeping with me tonight?”
“Only if you keep your hands to yourself.”
I chuckle. “I can’t make any promises.”
“Do I need to get my handcuffs out?”
I raise an eyebrow, totally twisting his meaning. “I didn’t realise you were into that shit.”
His deep laugh echoes around us and I grin, pleased that his mind is now clear from the trouble he was swallowed in when he first arrived.
“Thanks for this man. I needed it.” He exhales deeply and steps forward, looking down over Camden Lock, taking a moment. “I may hate what it brings at times, but I sure do love this city.”
My eyes fall to my bare feet. I’ve never understood his affinity for the city because it’s never giving me anything that would make me want to love about it. It’s a hollow pit of broken dreams and internal pain. For years, it's been a constant merry-go-round of Tessa and meds.
Tessa and meds.
Tessa and meds.
Meds to try and control my illogical mind and the constant wondering if I’ll ever find Tessa—an unresolved worry that I’ve carried with me since she was snatched away. There's nothing to go on other than she is blonde with blue eyes and that she’d screamed when she was taken. I have no physical photo, nothing. Just a photographic memory and a room of timeline paintings. I've seen her in the street. I've taken hold of her in the market. I've yelled at her to stop, but each time, it’s been my mind playing tricks on me, my hope dying that little bit more when I realise it’s not her.
“Do you ever think we will find her?”
Empathy clouds Emmets eyes—a look I’ve never liked from him as it confirms so much I don’t want to hear, regardless of the fact I’m the one who asked the question.
“I honestly don’t know, Dex. The missing persons list grows each day, and unfortunately, a lot of them are never found, or if they are it’s not a good outcome. Tessa’s been missing for over a decade, and as much as I want you to find her, I genuinely don’t think we will.”
“You think I should give up hope.”
He studies me for a second. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s trying to work out if what he’s about to say will send me into a rage. “No one says you have to give up hope, but I think you need to put Tessa to the back of your mind and start living. You can’t waste your days in memory of what was. You need to move on, bud.”
I swallow back the emotion that is threatening. I’ve thought this time and time again, and I know what my friend is saying is most likely the only outcome I’m going to get when it comes to my sister. I stopped looking for her a long time ago because I’d honestly had no idea where to start: she might not even be in the country. But closing the chapter and giving up on her altogether isn’t an option either. Closing the chapter will mean I’ve truly failed her, and I’ve lost. Keeping her alive in my mind and on canvas is all I have.
“What if I don’t know how to move on?” I admit, because I honestly don’t know how. This time, it's his turn to comfort me when his hand grips my shoulders.
“Then you let those around you help and guide you through it.”
My mind betrays me, and I think of Blue. “Are you referring to Pepper in that statement?”
“I’m referring to whoever you are willing to allow in your heart. You may think your world is dark, Dex, but it doesn’t have to be. Don’t put your head at war with your heart.”
His words are like a punch to the gut. My heart and mind are already at war because I’ve never known how to separate the two. My daily existence has always been trying to survive in the only way I know how. But now my days have been filled with the intrusion of big blue eyes and a smile I can’t shake from my memory. She’s already breaking down my barriers and if I let her in, I am fearful of what will happen when she truly sees the monster in me.
Chapter Seventeen
Pepper
“So, we are good to start this week? It’s vital that the building work is done within the next six months.”
“Miss Livewell, I think you might have misheard me earlier. We are starting the work tomorrow.”
My eyes widen as I look at the man who is overseeing the renovation to the gallery. He may have told me, only my mind hasn’t really been on the ball. Ever since I walked out of Emmet's house the other day, I’ve not seen or heard from Dexter at all, and I’m annoyed that I’m constantly looking at the door waiting for him to walk through it and into the gallery. I owe him nothing, yet my heart longs to see his face and the eyes that I get lost in.
I still don’t know what caused his outburst. Things had been going great between us, and I’d somehow put my foot in it once again. I wish he would talk to me instead of lashing out with words and an aggression that causes the hair on the back of my neck to rise.
“Miss Livewell?”
I blink at the sound of my name and realise I haven’t answered. “Right. Yes, sorry. And please call me Pepper.”
The guy standing before me, who I now know is called Mark, smiles with a nod as he makes his way to the entrance of the gallery. “The team and I will be here in the morning.”
“Great. I’ll see you first thing.”
The renovations to the gallery have come around far quicker than I thought they would. I took to following it up as Dexter had requested and to my knowledge, Mark is a friend of Emmet, who had called in a favour. Mark was aware of what needed to be done with regards to the building; he was waiting for Dexter to get his head out of his arse and make the call. If I’d had known this, I would have had them come sooner. It was Dexter, yet again, stalling for time. It saddens me that after our brief conve
rsation at Emmet’s, that Dexter clearly doesn’t believe in his work—more importantly, himself.
The man is a magician when it comes to his art, and it makes my heart feel heavy with the lack of belief he has in himself.
Why?
I question whether it’s another nail in the wall of why he behaves the way he does. Bipolar or not, I think the life and the mystery of Dexter Wilson go far deeper than anything medical.
After shutting down the laptop and turning off the lights to the gallery, I close up and make my way out to my scooter
My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket with a message.
Dad: Your mum has found a new love for a fuzzy navel. It’s a cocktail in case you were wondering. She’s not into belly buttons.
I chuckle at his text and reply.
Me: I bet she will be regretting it when her head is fuzzy in the morning. Hope you are having a great time. Miss you millions.
Dad: I dread to think what she will be like. She’s never been good at daytime drinking. Miss you lots too, Pickles. Keep smiling. X.
I ignore the ache that fills my heart and place my phone back in my pocket before jumping on my scooter and heading for home. It’s been just over a week since they left, and it already feels like a lifetime. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next few weeks knowing they are not just around the corner.
As I turn out into the road, I’m caught off guard when a young boy runs out in front of me. Everything happens so fast. Slamming my brakes on, I swerve to miss hitting him and then oncoming traffic. The next thing I know, I'm knocked to the ground, my scooter falling with a loud crunch. I cry out as the contact of the ground burns my thigh and pain radiates my body from the sudden jolt.
Car lights and horns blind my eyes and pierce my ears as they drive by. My pulse pounds hard in my throat, my body beginning to shake as I try and register what happened. Thankfully I hadn’t been going so fast.
I could have hit him.
I can’t breathe.
“Are you hurt, miss?” an unfamiliar voice asks, but I don’t answer. Tears sting my eyes as I notice blood forming on my hand where I’ve cut it. My helmet rapidly feels too heavy, and I carefully remove it, gasping for the air that’s instantly become a lifeline. Nausea hits my stomach when I try to move, but when a strong hand lands on my back and a deep voice hits my ears, a surge of security covers me.
“Pepper?”
His concerned gaze brings warmth but as the shock sets in, my tears fall. “Dexter.”
“Are you hurt?”
“M-my leg.”
“Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
Once Dexter helps me up, I wince at the sheer stinging on my thigh. My tights are torn and blood trickles down my leg from what appears to be a deep graze. Dropping to his knees, Dexter’s hands gently cup my leg as he examines the wound. The trepidation in his features when he looks back at me makes my heart skip as he speaks with a tenderness I’ve not heard in him.
“This needs some attention.”
I look around and see a circle of people watching, my scooter on the ground. As if I wasn’t traumatised enough, a flashback terrorises my mind and my chest tightens in horrific panic as I slam my eyes shut.
“I nearly hit him." I shudder, my voice cracking at the reality as fresh tears build. "I didn’t see him. I swear, I didn't see."
“Shh. I’ve got you.” Callus hands cup my face, but I keep my eyes closed. I feel safe, guarded, and it’s what I’ve been missing these last few days. I let myself fall into his security and latch onto him tighter, letting his touch regulate my fear. But when the brush of his soft lips dust against my temple, I have to fight not to fall apart.
“Let's get you cleaned up," he whispers. Looking up at him, I see his eyes are still deep with apprehension as his thumbs wipe away my tears.
“You don’t have to do—”
“Blue, I’m not that much of a fuck up that I’m going to leave you here.” He adds a little more pressure against my jaw, determination in his voice. “Please, Pepper. I want to do this.”
Just the sincerity from him is enough to have me nodding, but the truth all comes down to the way I’ve become so lost in the feeling of him around me. Why can’t it be more like this and less like it has been?
Once my scooter that is now decorated with scratches is parked up at the side of the road, Dexter comes back to me, and before I have a chance to do anything, I’m lifted in his arms and he’s striding across the road, stopping the traffic like he’s King Kong.
“My leg isn’t broken. I could have walked.”
“I didn’t want you to.”
I lay my head on his chest and rest into his firm body, knowing that this could be the only time I get this much security from his embrace. We could have more of this if only he would allow himself to drop those barriers he’s shielded himself behind and be the person I know he can be. He’s fire and ice, a hot rage of ice-cold, but I know he has the ability to be something compassionate and tranquil.
Once I’m inside Dexter's place, he sits me down on the kitchen chair and orders me not to move. Next, an opened bottle of Jack Daniels is placed in front of me and I can’t help my inner smile. It seems JD is always available in a crisis where Dexter is around.
“Drink this. It will help with the shock.”
I take a large mouthful and screw my face up at the strong taste as the burn filters down my throat, leaving a warmth to soak through my bloodstream. His eyes never leave mine, and when he takes the bottle out of my hand, he downs some alcohol himself.
“Is yours for shock, too?”
“No. That’s for having a damsel in distress in my house.”
I chuckle softly. “I bet you’ve had your fair share of damsels over the years.”
“You’d be surprised how few there have been.” He walks back to the kitchen as his next words that follow take my breath away. “And there’ve certainly never been any in my house.”
Interesting.
Placing a bowl of water on the table along with some tissues, he brings his chair closer and sits down in front of me. Hesitation now shadows his features, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s about to take care of me or the proximity. I want him to break this barrier he’s put between us. I need him to know it’s okay to be close to another—to be close to me. More importantly, I need his touch that my body is desperate for.
“You’ll need to take your tights off before I get started."
I stand, kick off my shoes and slink my hands under my dress to take hold the top of my tights. His face is at my waistline, so close that I can feel his breath whispering against my exposed skin as I flash my lace underwear to manoeuvre the tights down my legs. His eyes are fixed on my body as he swallows. Silence filters between us when I retake my seat. He doesn’t look at me. The solidness of his jaw tells me that he’s fighting this as hard as I’m trying to break him down.
Taking my hand, he turns it over so my palm is facing him. The lukewarm water makes the graze sting as he cleans my wound with care. There are two sides to this man, and the more I see this side, the more I question if he knows how beautiful it is. The monster in him seems to have settled, awakening a man the world needs to see more of.
“Thank you, for helping me out.”
“I couldn’t leave you there.”
I take another mouthful of JD. “I'm surprised you haven't yelled at me for being stupid.”
“And why would I shout at you?”
“Because you're… you.”
He chuckles lightly. “I'm not always me, you know.”
“You mean grumpy?”
Silence hits yet again as he continues washing away the blood. I go with it, knowing it’s clearly what he needs in order to process things.
“It's a good job you had your helmet on,” he answers, avoiding my earlier question. “It could have been worse.”
“Yeah, I could have died and then started haunting you from t
he grave.”
He looks me dead in the eye before a smirk creeps across his face. "Don't even joke about that."
“Oh, Dexter, think of the silence you'd have without me around.”
This time a deep laugh erupts between us and the flutters expand in my stomach.
“Enough, Pepper.”
Pepper.
He hardly ever calls me that and each time he does, I want to put it on repeat and listen to it all day. He takes a mouthful of JD and hands it back as curiosity spikes my conversation.
"Why don't you like people, Dexter?"
Discarding the bloodied tissue, he takes a clean one, dipping it into the water before he lifts my leg and rests my foot on his knee. The dried blood has cracked across my skin and fresh blood has speckled in places. It’s a wound that will heal in no time, but the memories of tonight will stay with me far longer.
He glances up at me. “This may hurt.”
I jump, my fists ball and I curse from the intense sting that radiates across my thigh when he presses the damp tissue against my skin. The tenderness of his thumb stroking the back of my leg creates tingles to cover my body, guiding my attention in another direction.
“So, as I was asking, why don’t you like people?”
He hesitates and I believe for a moment that I might have lost him, until he speaks.
"It's not that I don't like people. I prefer my privacy.”
"Why?"
"Because… it's better that way."
I tilt my head to the side, and he catches my gaze. "For whom?"
He pauses. I know I’m now making him uncomfortable, but I can read him enough to know that he’s accepting the intrusion.
“For everyone.”
Because of the bipolar?
"That sounds a little solitary?”
“I don’t get a chance to be anything like that with you and Emmet around.”
“You know what I mean.” I drink some more JD, hoping it will find me the courage for my next probe. “Do you though? Get lonely?”
Like he’s swallowed a bitter pill, his Adam's apple bobs hard, telling me everything he’s yet to say as he whispers, "You and your questions."
