by Jean Haus
He breathes on me like a dog, huffing into my hair. “Are you being a bitch because of that douche bag?”
I point at the door. “You need to go.”
“I’m staying.”
I’m getting angry. He’s basically been bullying me all week and this is the bully cherry on top. “We’re not getting back together. There is nothing left to say. Leave.” I point past him again.
He leans closer to me and says through his teeth, “We’re working it out.”
“Do I need to call the cops?” I ask, backing away from him.
He lunges, grips my arms hard, and shakes me. “Quit being a bitch!”
My anger erupts. “I’m never getting back together with you. I can’t stand you. Get out of my house,” I hiss.
His face twisting in rage, Trevor lets go of me as the door creaks open behind us, but before I can put any more distance between us, he snarls, lifts a tattooed arm, and backhands me. Hard. My jaw and mouth scream in agony as I fly across the room, bang into the wall, and slide to the floor.
Pissed, humiliated, and in pain, I peel myself from the carpet while grunts, crashing, and cursing erupt behind me. With my entire body shaking, I stand and then see Justin and Trevor circling each other in my living room. I clutch the back of a chair, afraid I might crumple back to the floor.
What the hell is happening?
After Trevor’s slap, I’m completely dazed. I can’t understand how or why Justin is here.
Trevor rushes at Justin. They end up locked together in a furious embrace that neither is willing to break, shoving at each other and knocking over chairs. The coffee table tips over, and the rain of Legos spilling everywhere sounds amid their cussing.
I’m still clutching the chair, trying to think of what to do, how to get them apart, as Justin slams Trevor against the wall. His hands clamping on Trevor’s shoulders, Justin slams him into the wall two more times, causing the entire room to shake. Appearing as dazed as I am, Trevor lets Justin wrap him in a headlock.
With a heave and teeth clenched, Justin drags him across the carpet, throws him out of the apartment, and clicks the deadbolt into place before leaning against the back of the door. Still shocked he’s here, I can only stare at Justin as he wraps his hands in his messy hair and bows his head. “I want to kill the mother fucker.”
Trevor bangs on the other side of the door while shouting obscenities.
Justin lifts his gaze and his eyes blaze at the sight of my face, which has to be marked. “I’m going to kill him,” he says, breathing hard.
Building tears finally break free. I let out a sob and stagger toward him. My hands cup his lovely face. “He doesn’t matter.” I’m shaking. He’s shaking. “That you’re here is all that matters. You came is all that matters.”
He gently brings a trembling hand to my face but doesn’t touch me. “You’re lip’s bleeding. There’s a red welt your face,” he says through clenched teeth.
I’m probably lucky Trevor didn’t hit the side of my face with the ring in it because the blow would have torn my lip, but I’m trying not to think of that right now. “Forget it. Forget him.” I slide my hands around Justin’s neck and inch closer.
He finally pulls me to his chest. My fingers grip him, a raft in a swirling, angry ocean. We stand there for a long moment, holding each other, leaning on the door that pulsates with Trevor’s rage.
Justin’s fingers tangle in my hair as his other hand holds me tighter. “What the hell is going on?”
Shaking my head, I bury my face in his chest. “I think he’s on drugs,” I mumble into the softness of his T-shirt.
“Drugs?”
“Talking fast. Huge pupils. Thinks he rules the world.”
“Sounds like coke.” He gently lifts my head and wipes at my tearstained face. “I should have kicked his coked-up ass to hell.” His lips thin. “I still want to.”
I’m about to tell him again to forget Trevor, but we both pause at the sudden silence.
Listening, Justin cocks his head to the side.
My fingers loosen their grip on his shirt.
His green gaze comes back to me as a different rap sounds at the door along with the muffled word: “Police.”
Justin’s brows lower.
I step back. “He couldn’t knock with so much control, but check the peephole.”
After pressing his face to the door, Justin opens the door to the waiting officer.
The next half hour passes in a long, slow blur. One of my neighbors called the police. Not sure if it was the screaming, fighting, or door banging, but someone had enough. Finding Trevor still beating at the door, the police hauled him down to their car. After an officer takes my statement and pictures of my face, while Justin rotates between hovering and cleaning up the mess of my living room, we’re finally alone.
He sits on the arm of the couch and hands me a glass of water and two Tylenol he must have found on the top shelf of the bathroom vanity. Suddenly feeling guilty and strangely shy, I can only glance at him as I lower the wet washcloth from my lip and reach for the water and pills. “Thanks.” I swallow the pills, then set the glass on the coffee table. “I’m beyond grateful you were here, but why did you come?”
“You weren’t answering your phone and”—he drags a hand through his hair—“I needed to talk with you. Luckily, the door was open.”
Not wanting to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up, I say, “With Trevor’s call and text bombardment, my phone’s been on silent, but I was going to call you.”
He stiffens beside me. “Why?”
Realizing he’s imaging the worst, I shift toward him. “Because—well…” His expression constricts as I fumble for the right words. This was much easier expressing with paint.
A quick rap-rap-rap sounds from across the room.
My gaze snaps to the door. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Let me,” Justin says, standing. After looking through the peephole, he turns toward me. “I think it’s that girl…from the gallery night. Is she Trevor’s girlfriend?”
“Jazz?” I ask incredulously.
Frowning, he nods. “Do you want me to answer it?”
Jazz knocks harder.
I rub my temples. “Might as well before the neighbors call the cops again.”
Standing in the doorway and dressed in a cropped leather jacket and the shortest skirt in the world, Jazz glares from me to Justin twice. “Where’s Trevor?” she asks me.
Still rubbing a temple, I say, “Probably in a holding tank downtown.”
“What?” she wails, and rushes into my apartment. “Why?”
I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “Oh, maybe because he was disturbing the peace, yelling obscenities, and hitting me.” I wave a hand across my injured face, showing her the damage.
Jazz abruptly stops in the middle of the living room, finally noticing my bloody lip and marked face. “What did you do?” She arrogantly flips her long platinum hair over her shoulder. “He’s never been violent with me.”
Still standing at the door, Justin closes it while I try to contain my dislike for the woman scowling at me. I’ve disliked her for so long, it’s hard to keep the emotion off my face. “Guess you don’t say no.”
Her lip curls in disgust. “Bullshit. He came over here to talk to you about the shop and Ben.”
“And about getting back together.”
Now Jazz looks like she wants to hit me.
Guess it’s my night.
“Whoa,” Justin says, moving in front of her and pointing at a chair. “Sit down and talk or leave.”
Jazz gives him a hard glare but moves to the chair by the window. She crosses her legs and one red cowboy boot bounces. “You know he’s been staying with me this whole time, right?”
Justin sits back down on the arm of the couch, almost a foot from me. Too far away.
Suddenly, I’m tired. Tired of Trevor. Tired of arguing. Tired of hati
ng this girl across from me. “Yes, I gathered he was staying with you.” My arms loosen around my knees. “You know what, Jazz?”
At my blunt tone, Jazz pauses bouncing her cowboy boot.
“I think Trevor is in love with you.” She visibly deflates and falls back into the chair. “I’m just what he thinks he needs. Now and then. In fact, he’s probably always been in love with you, but he loves himself more because you’ve never been good enough for him. Not when we were in high school. Not when he went to California. And not now when he’s obviously desperate enough to try and force me to take him back.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, and wraps her arms around her waist. “He’s broke.”
I sigh. “I figured as much.”
“He lost the shop in California.”
“After tonight, I was guessing that too.”
“He, he is—”
“Snorting all his money up his nose?” Justin says sarcastically.
Her nostrils flare from evident anger. “Things are tough for him right now.”
“Quit making excuses for him,” I say. “He’s been walking all over you since you two were twelve. He walks all over everyone.”
Her heated eyes flash at me. “You don’t know what he’s been through. What his childhood was like. Going from foster home to foster home sucks. Trust me, I know.”
Justin leans forward. “So that gives him a right to treat you like shit?”
“Like you’ve got room to talk,” Jazz spits at Justin.
“You’re right.” Justin leans back against the wall and folds his arms. “But that all ended when I fell in love.”
A burst of warm emotions hits me as Jazz stares slack-jawed at Justin. She snaps her mouth shut and turns to me. “What are you going to do?”
Still fuzzy from Justin’s declaration, it takes me a few seconds to understand her question. “I’ll be filing a restraining order and pressing charges.”
“You wouldn’t.” Her hands clasp her knees. Red nails dig into her skin. “Why would you do that to your son’s father?”
“Ben is my reason,” I say. “As much as I’d like Trevor to rot in hell, he’s my son’s father. He needs to get off the drugs and get himself together. Or he won’t be seeing Ben. At this point, if it weren’t for Ben I wouldn’t care if Trevor snorted coke until it killed him. But because of Ben, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure Trevor has no choice except to get clean.”
“When did you turn into the judge and jury?” she sneers.
“When I became a mother.”
“You can’t take Ben from him!” she says, flying out of the chair.
Justin stands too. “Okay, we’re done here.” He goes to the door and opens it. “Allie’s been attacked enough for one evening.”
Jazz glances from me to Justin’s stern face. “Fine, but you’d better rethink the whole Ben thing, Al.” She pauses at the door. “Or Trevor’s going to be really, really pissed.”
Like I care.
As soon as she steps out the door, Justin shuts it and turns the lock. His lips form a grim line as he walks toward the couch. “Match made in heaven there.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
Instead of sitting on the couch, he perches on the coffee table across from me. “How are you feeling?”
I summon a slight smile. “All right. Better.”
“You need to lie down?”
I shake my head.
He swallows tightly. “So…about that call.”
My arms tighten around my knees. “I kind of had a revelation last night. First let me say I’m sorry about getting weird this week. I was overwhelmed. Between Trevor’s antics and my own reservations, everything was too much.”
His hands grip the edge of the coffee table, but his face is expressionless. “Reservations?”
A sigh escapes me at the thought of explaining, but he deserves to understand. “Over the last couple of years, I’ve built up this image in my head of who I’m allowed to date. Someone older. Someone with a career. Someone financially stable. The list is never ending. Probably because no man would fit all my requirements, then I wouldn’t have to risk getting hurt again. Thing is, I’d held on to my conditions for so long I couldn’t see past them.”
“You’re right.” He looks away toward the kitchen, and I finally catch the emotion on his face. Hopelessness. “I’m not good enough for you.”
My knees drop and I lean toward him. “Not even close. I realized last night you’re nearly perfect.”
His startled gaze meets mine.
“No one has ever treated me like you do. The roof, the wine, breakfast…Just the way you look at me makes my breath catch.” I put my hands on his knees and it appears as though I’m making his breath catch. “When we’re together, I feel like the girl I used to be. You’ve broken down the wall I built around myself by being caring and sweet and so patient with me. Those words you told me Sunday were lovely, and I was a fool to panic. Your actions have shown me your feelings loud and clear, but I was too scared and blind to see the truth in them.” Though his face is full of wonder, it’s also tight with confusion. I stand and tug his hand. “Let me show you the truth.”
He lets me lead him into my bedroom, which is where I moved my easel this morning. I flick on the lamp and gesture toward the almost-done painting sitting at the easel at the end of my bed. “I’d been fighting my feelings for you, but when I let myself go, the artist inside of me created this.”
His wide eyes focused on the canvas, Justin falls on the end of my bed. He traces the swirls of the painting’s center. On the canvas he stands tall in all his muscled, tattooed glory, wearing only jeans, in front of a painting. He’s reaching out, grasping my hand and pulling me from the painting inside a painting, freeing me from its confines. Though done in my favorite style of modern impressionism, the painting depicts both of us in washed-out colors instead of the bright hues I usually use. Except for the growing burst of color at the focal point where our hands connect. There the painting is bright, the colors vibrant along the skin of our arms.
“It’s beautiful,” he says in a short breath, dropping his hand and leaning back on the bed.
“It’s true.” I lower myself, kneeling on the floor. “You free me from all my insecurities, take away the loneliness I’d grown to accept, and make me feel like the young woman I forgot I was.” I reach for his hand and hold it in mine. “I’m not falling in love, Justin.” He flinches and my hold tightens on his hand. “Look at the painting. I’m completely enamored, head-over-heels, already there. It’s impossible for me to be more in love with you.”
His eyes turn into wide green pools as he glances at the painting and then at me.
I lift his hand and touch my lips to his knuckles. “Yes, you. I want to be with you. I want you to keep pulling me back into life, into you.”
“Damn, Allie.” He heaves me up, draws me between his legs, and presses his face to my chest. He holds me tight. “I’m going to hyperventilate.”
I slide my hands into his hair. “Now who’s freaking out?”
He groans. “I was hoping you weren’t going to kick me to the curb.” He tilts his head up and studies me. “That you love me is…”—his hands clasp my back, gripping me tighter—“so damn amazing. I want to deserve your love.”
“You do,” I say with conviction.
Shaking his head, he gently kisses the side of my mouth that isn’t injured. “It’s like I’ve landed in another dimension. My own imaginary, perfect dimension.”
“You’re here.” My hands tighten in his hair. “With me.”
He glances at my swollen lip and sighs. “Let me sleep with you? Hold you? Help me find solid ground.”
I smile at him. It hurts my lip a little, but I don’t mind. He’s so beautiful. It used to hurt sometimes to look at him, believing we could never truly be together, but now he’s all mine. I push him back onto the bed and fall on him with a laugh.
“Yes.
Yes. And please.”
Chapter 33
Justin
I wake to bright morning light. I wake to the face of the most beautiful, sexiest woman in the world. Her auburn hair spills across the pillow and my shoulder. Her leg is wrapped around mine. She’s soft and sweet in my arms. Digging my nose into her hair and breathing in the exquisite scent of her, I realize I love her with every cell in my body.
That she loves me too is nothing but a miracle.
Until I met her, I’d been a shallow, immature self-centered boy. She’s unknowingly made me a man. What’s important in life has finally clicked together like the last piece of a puzzle. And it’s in my arms.
After watching her sleep for a while, I carefully untangle myself and make a quick trip to the bathroom. In minutes I’m back under the covers, content to hold her. As I’m thinking about how good it is lying here with her, Allie’s eyes flutter open. She blinks at me, then presses herself against my body and smiles sensually. “Morning.”
“Morning to you, beautiful.” I grin. Here I’d been thinking I’d never spent this much time in a bed with a woman without sex, and it was great. But as her hand slides across my chest, I’m thinking sex would make it better than great.
She pushes up on an elbow. “Give me a minute to go—” She pauses, noticing something beyond my shoulder. “Is it really eleven?”
I crank my head around and glance at the clock. “Eleven fifteen to be precise.”
“Oh no!” She flies out of the bed. “I’m supposed to be at my parents’ at twelve for Sunday dinner.” She rushes out of the room, which leaves me staring at the empty doorway.
Dejected but understanding, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on my shoes when she stands in the doorway a few minutes later.
“You’re coming, right?”
“To your parents’?” I ask incredulously.
She gives me a don’t-be-an-idiot nod.
The idea of meeting her parents disorients me. “Ah, I don’t have any clean clothes.”
She shrugs. “Just throw your shirt in the dryer for a few minutes.”
“What about Ben?”
