by J. L. Mac
I can’t respond. I can’t even form words. I’m standing here like scared little girl, shaking and wishing I knew what to say. He’s right. He’s so right. I’m pathetic.
“If that’s what you want from me, you can fucking forget about it!” he snaps as he turns away again and paces to the window and back.
I standing here waiting for something to break, for something to give, for a fucking light bulb moment that will clarify all of this for us.
“I won’t make this easy for you,” he says, his voice hoarse with conviction. “I won’t let you take the easiest, quickest route out of my life all because you’re too damn scared to let this happen. Dammit, Sadie! I’m the one that isn’t worth a damn, but I’m willing to risk heartbreak just to try it with you.” Zander turns on his heels and runs his hands through his hair, facing the panoramic view of the city.
“I’m—I-I can’t do this,” I sputter. “I just can’t. I tried. I thought maybe I could let myself see where things would go, but I can’t. This is all so fucked up. I love Jake. I still love him so much and the guilt—”
“Jake is dead, Sadie!” Zander yells loudly, cutting me off.
How dare he talk to me like that?
“I know!” I shout, fighting hard against the growing lump in my throat. “I fucking know that! Okay? He’s gone and he’s never coming back to me!”
“Come on, Sadie. You’re breaking my heart here. Please just stop and think about this,” Zander urges softly.
“Your heart, huh?” I sneer, laughing condescendingly at the mention of his heart. I’m so sick of thinking, dreaming, and remembering that heart! I’m ready to pull my goddamned hair out. Maybe I’m having some sort of breakdown. I just can’t do this shit anymore. Something has got to give here and I think my sanity is first in line.
“Why are you so determined to fight this?” he questions, looking back at me from his place by the window.
I don’t acknowledge his question. Not that I could respond if I wanted to, because he’s just asked me the same exact question I’ve been asking myself for who knows how long. The time that I’ve spent with Zander has seemed to stall, fast forward, and rewind, leaving me constantly disoriented. It began with an email. I sent a simple, to the point email and the intrigue began as soon as he emailed me back with a short, to the point email of his own. He didn’t apologize profusely. He didn’t use kid gloves with me. He made me feel normal and a little less lonely. Meeting him in person on the beach only planted the hook. He was handsome and brooding but clearly alone like me. Coming together with Zander was the most effortless thing I’ve ever done.
I wish I could rid myself of guilt and love and all the other feelings that surround my life with Jake, and without Jake, but I can’t. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe it’s both. Maybe my frustration over everything has nothing at all to do with Zander. Maybe it’s because I want him so damn much. Maybe it’s because I miss Jake, or maybe it’s that I don’t miss Jake nearly as much when I’m with Zander. Maybe it’s the damned guilt I feel for knowing that Zander soothes my heart and soul in a way that’s just as addictive as any street drug. Maybe it’s the guilt that I feel for wanting more of him. All of him.
“You want to know what I think?” he says, interrupting my analyzing.
“Not really,” I mumble weakly, not inclined to argue with him anymore.
“Yeah, well, you’re getting it. I think you’re scared,” he says, stepping close to me. His hands cup my cheeks and he tilts my head, forcing me to look at him. “I think you’re so damn scared of allowing me even an inch of leeway because you don’t want to feel guilty. Since you came into my life, all you’ve done is make it a point to let me know how great Jake was. How he was your only love. How he touched you. How he would have been a great dad. How he didn’t deserve what he got. How you miss him. And I couldn’t agree more, but making me feel an inch tall doesn’t bring him back and ignoring what we have here doesn’t make it disappear. It won’t take this heart from me and put it back in his chest. It won’t change what I know you feel here.”
“I don’t feel anything here except frustration. You don’t know what this feels like,” I jerk away and snap at him, knowing that he’s right and I’m nothing more than a spineless coward too afraid to let him in for fear that my life with Jake will fade out completely and I would have something worth being happy about. Something worth losing. Something that could crush me if I did ever lose it. I can’t lose somebody again.
“Look at me and tell me that you don’t feel a damn thing going on between us. Go ahead. And I don’t mean just the physical stuff, Sadie. I mean what’s in here.” His hand motions back and forth between us, then points at his own chest while his sapphire eyes take aim and seem to peer right into me, forcing me to swallow hard.
“Stop it,” I growl through gritted teeth, shaking my head. “Shut your arrogant mouth!” Tears pool, making my vision blurry.
“No,” he replies simply. “I know you won’t say it because you can’t. You want the truth? You’re right. I don’t deserve a second chance at life. He deserved to live a long life right beside you, to have kids, all of it. I’m the last motherfucker in the world who deserves another chance at life. I’m not a good man, Sadie. I lived fast and burned bridges faster. I’ve left a path of women in my wake a mile wide. I partied hard and fucked harder. There. That’s the person that your husband’s heart saved. So go ahead and hate me. You certainly can’t ever hate me more than I hate myself. Black sheep, remember?” he says, pointing to himself with a self-depreciating smirk.
It wounds me. I don’t like him thinking that way about himself. I want so badly to make him think of himself the way I think of him. I wish he could view himself the way that I do. Then he’d see how much he has to give.
My lips part, but words won’t come out. I’m shaking. My palms are sweaty. I’m not sure what to say. I’m taken aback not by what he’s just said, but by what it made me feel. For a moment, anger edged back and sadness for him flooded my mind. I don’t feel angry right now. I don’t feel anything really except shock and sadness over what he’s just said. My head is spinning.
Zander’s chest heaves up and down rapidly. “If you think for one second that I wanted this, you’re wrong,” he grumbles, shrugging out of his jacket. I watch in silence as my sweet black sheep tosses it to the chair where my clutch is then turns back to face me again. He’s frustrated and hurt too and despite my inability to attend to my own frustration and sadness, I want to help Zander. I just don’t know how. I feel captive. I feel pushed. I feel squeezed. I feel cornered.
I take a cautious step back but he instantly steps forward, closing the space between us. I can feel the heat and frustration radiating from him. His breathing is uneven and he seems to be trembling just as much as I am.
Before I have a chance to even think, he grips his shirt at the front and rips it open, sending buttons skipping across his floor in all directions. My eyes instinctively look towards the floor to watch where buttons have flown. When I look up, I find myself staring at the same man who ripped his shirt open like a caveman, except he’s not frustrated. The look on his face is one that I’ve not seen yet.
Anguish. Pure anguish.
Tears glisten in his dark blue eyes. He steps even closer to me, leaving only an inch or two of space for me to call mine. His eyes bore into me as he shrugs his shoulders up and down a few times, easily slipping out of the fabric. I watch it drop to the floor and do my best to compose myself.
“Look at it,” he demands softly.
I know exactly what he’s talking about. I haven’t seen his scar yet and I’m not quite sure that I’m ready to see the marred chest that was split open to welcome in a new heart. New to him, anyway. It damn sure wasn’t new to me. I’ve known that heart since childhood.
I loved that heart.
That’s the heart that loved me right back.
“Look at it, Sadie,” he repeats, demanding.
In spite of th
e growing knot in my throat, I look up from the floor to stare straight ahead at a deep pink vertical scar. It’s wide and long, extending the full length of his sternum.
My head lowers and my eyes drift askew of their own volition. The sight of his scar makes me sad for him and resentful all at once. Two-year-old questions surface again and I feel like I’m drowning in my emotions. Why does he get to live? Why did Jacob have to die? Why do I have this stupid guilt keeping me from walking away from it all? I know none of this is Zander’s fault. I’ve been fighting so hard to not fall for him. I know that it’s shitty of me to hold a grudge against him for reasons that make zero sense. Maybe I don’t have a grudge at all. Maybe I just hate that I feel guilty for being attracted to him. For wanting him. For needing him. I feel bad that a small part of me is thankful that he’s the man who received my husband’s heart.
Tears stream from my eyes, making me want to hide. I want to hide from everything. Zander’s hand lifts to cup my cheek and he gently lifts my head to face him. The anguish that I saw for a moment has been replaced with a look of sympathy. A look of love.
“I don’t hate you,” I cry. “I’m glad that you’re alive. I guess—I guess that sometimes I’m just not glad that I am.” My admission feels like it’s more for me than it is for him.
He sighs heavily and pulls me to his bare chest with such force that the breath in my lungs rushes out. Our bodies meld together. The anger that I’ve cultivated for so long is gone and I let go. With my cheek pressed to his chest, I sob to the sound of the steady, strong heart that I’ve loved for so long. It’s a heart that I’ll continue to love. Even if it now belongs to Zander. Maybe, specifically now that it belongs to Zander.
“I’m sorry, Zander. I’m so sorry,” I sputter against his chest through heavy sobs.
“Me too, baby,” he whispers, his lips and nose resting against the top of my head. “I need you,” he breathes heavily, his voice filled with emotion.
“Me too,” I admit.
His lips cover mine, leading us in an unrushed, passionate kiss that soothes both of us. It’s been a stressful day for both of us. I try hard to ignore the nerves that have left me tattered and focus on just him. Just us. I ignore the last two years. I ignore what I know I have to do if I have any hopes of moving on with Zander.
He releases me and leads me to the bed, pushing gently on my shoulders until I sit on the edge. He gets down on one knee, lifting one foot then the other to slip off my heels. His lips are soft against the skin at my ankle. He drops kisses where the straps of the heels have rubbed, creating subtle red marks.
“I need you, Sadie,” he repeats low enough that I think he’s talking more to himself than to me. “All of you,” he goes on. Zander gets to his feet and steps between my knees, spreading them wide to accommodate his body. His fingers glide lightly up the back of my neck to lace into my hair. He tugs, gently forcing me to look up at him. “Sadie, please say that I can have all of you. Tell me that you don’t hate me for what he did, for who I am. Tell me that you can accept me the way I am.” His voice is lusty and full of emotion. Being back in Atlanta to face his world and mine has both of us shaken and needing something to cling to. He needs me. This smart, strong, wounded man needs me, and in spite of myself, I’m sure that it’s clear that I need him too. I need him so much it hurts.
I nod my head.
“No. Tell me. Please,” he insists.
“I don’t hate you,” I answer softly. “I swear it. I could never hate you.” More tears edge into my eyes, the source of this emotion a mix. It’s a culmination of events and circumstance two years in the making.
Zander pulls me to my feet and reaches around, unzipping my dress in the back. He grabs hold of the chiffon fabric, gathering it up in his big hands, and pulls it up and over my head. His sapphire eyes are burning bright with lust and just about the full spectrum of emotions.
Once my breasts are freed from the dress and exposed, I feel his fingers hook into my lace panties. He drags them down my legs to join my dress on the floor. His eyes pour over every square inch of my exposed skin, making me feel beautiful instead of insecure. He makes me feel needed. Treasured.
The pad of his thumb brushes over the scar where the bullet ripped through my flesh, seemingly erasing the negativity that’s attached to it. His touch is magic. The light to my dark. The only good in my ocean of bad.
I work with shaky fingers to free him from his pants. The slacks and boxer briefs fall to the floor and Zander steps out of them, pushing me back onto the bed. He hovers above me, his eyes tender and kind. Loving and intense. Scared and insecure. My sweet black sheep. I cup his face in my hands and pull him down to me. A gravelly groan escapes him and he devotes all of himself to this moment. His lips kiss mine passionately, his tongue slipping in and out of my mouth, brushing against mine. He hooks his fingers behind my knee and gently pulls it up, allowing his hips to settle deep between my thighs.
“Zander,” I whisper his name just to hear it.
“I’m right here, baby,” he murmurs back between warm, wet kisses on my neck.
The wide tip of his erection bumps against my slick center. I squirm beneath him, begging for him to fill me. Zander grips his rigid length and positions himself at the opening to my ready body. His dark blue eyes watch me carefully as I take in every inch of him. He slowly buries himself deeper and deeper until my flesh is fully sheathing his erection. My body accepts all of him almost greedily, my muscles clenching and tightening around him on their own. Zander leans down, caging me with his body. I run my fingers lightly over the scar on his chest, feeling so painfully relieved that he got Jake’s heart. My first love’s heart saved my future love’s life. I can’t feel much of anything right now except relief that Zander is here with me. The methods by which he got his transplant don’t matter to me. What matters is that Alexander McBride is with me right here, right now.
He withdraws and slowly pushes back into me. Tears fill my eyes, but Zander catches each of them with the pad of his thumb. He wipes them away and takes his time making love to me.
Making love.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Way Back
Sadie
April 27, 2013
The sun has barely risen. It’s just above the horizon, sending shades of orange and pink out across the sky. I glance back at Zander and choke down my soft crying.
We made love last night and talked. Everything he told me has forced me to make a decision, to pick a heart to break. I pick mine. I’ll break my heart. I’ll shatter it into a million pieces if that’s what it takes. I’ll do it for Zander. I’ll do it for me too.
The emotion we shared last night was so different. Zander made love to me. He worshipped every inch of my body. He looked at me with such reverie it made my chest ache and tears swim in my eyes. Without saying a word, he said so much. I don’t want to lose him to a past that has already taken so much and I know that if I don’t do the right thing, the hard thing, he’s as good as gone, just in a different way than Jake.
My mother is right. I have to close a door before I open another. It’s time to close Jake’s door.
My note is quick and to the point.
Zander,
I think we both know what I have to do. Give me time. Give me room. I’ll find my way back.
-Sadie
I quietly gather up my things and take a deep breath, deciding not to look back at the peaceful looking black sheep in the bed sleeping.
It’s a Saturday morning and plenty of people are starting to mill around in the hotel lobby, getting their complimentary coffee and starting their day. I think if the situation was any different, I may actually give a damn that I’m clearly making the walk of shame with smudged makeup, tangled hair, and a slightly wrinkled coral sundress. I can’t find the emotion to care if I wanted to. Tears silently slip down my face as I pull out my phone and text Mom.
I need you. Come over?
-Sadie
I se
nd the text and hold my hand up, motioning to the doorman for a cab. I slip into the back seat with my bag and prepare myself for heartbreak.
“803 Chestnut Lane,” I mumble to the cab driver.
My phone chimes with an incoming text from Mom.
On my way.
***
I’ve been home for less than half an hour. I turned my phone off as soon as I got home because I knew Zander would try calling when he found my note. I’ve cried and tried my best to explain everything to Mom, knowing that she’ll listen and give advice. She’ll hug. She’ll push, squeeze, and corner me in the right direction. I’ve opened Pandora’s Box and there’s no shutting it now. There’s no stopping it. There’s no slowing it down.
“Oh, baby girl,” Mom coos gently with her eyebrows furrowed.
The doorbell rings and my heart sinks. I know who it is. Zander. I look to Mom for help.
“I can’t do that for you, baby girl. You tell that man what’s in your heart.”
The bell rings again and I wipe my face with the wad of tissue in my hand as I head to the door to face my black sheep.
I open the door and lean against the frame, feeling like I may be too weak to do this. Seeing a disheveled Zander on my porch in a white t-shirt and jeans makes my heart clench. He runs his hands through his hair and holds up my note.
“What the fuck is this?” he whispers, clearly hurt and confused.
My face contorts a little and new tears spill onto my cheeks. “I—I can’t,” I make a weak effort at explaining myself but find that I fall short where words are concerned.
“For God’s sake, Sadie, are you really going to stand here and deny me the one thing that I know I was born to do? To be? Is that what this is?” he asks, waving the note in front of my face. “Because if you are—if you insist on closing that door—I’ll be forced to tell you that facing a future without you in it is a future I want no part of. I’ll be forced to tell you that I’ll wake up every day searching for you beside me. I’ll be forced to tell you that I’ll be ruined for any other woman. Maybe I already am.”
