Relapse

by J. P. Nicholas

  I don't know what to say to make him feel better, or if I should speak at all. I decide just to speak the truth. "I don't know what to think of you anymore, Darren. We don't know each other. It's so easy to forget that when nostalgia kicks in. When all we can remember are the memories we shared. But the truth remains that we don't know these versions of each other."

  His blue-eyed gaze shifts from the floor to me. "Then agree to go out with me. Get to know this version of me." He shrugs his shoulders. "I think he's pretty great."

  I can't help but laugh. "I'll think about it."

  A cheeriness overcomes him. "Cheers! I'll pick you up Tuesday at eight."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Darren

  The sunlight streams in through the living room window, blinding me. I must've forgotten to close the bloody curtains last night. I rub the sleep from my eyes and wait a minute or two for my vision to focus. I jump when the blurriness clears, and I see Declan staring down at me.

  "What the fuck, mate? You’re watching me sleep now?" My voice sounds more gravelly than usual, but I chalk that up to the lack of sleep. I barely got any shuteye last night. Maybe three or four hours tops. I couldn't stop thinking about Alyssa. Or that fucking kiss. I'd give anything to devour those tender lips again.

  Declan shoves my shoulder in a playful manner. "You whipped out your John Thomas and shagged some woman's bum on the beach? You tosser."

  I scrub a hand over my face and sit up on the couch. After a much-needed good morning stretch, I tackle this rumor head-on.

  "Where'd you hear that?"

  "In the paper,” he proclaims, tossing a copy of the Gazette onto the coffee table. I snatch it up rather quickly. What rubbish is written in this thing now?

  As soon as I read the title, I sigh in frustration. This better be a fucking jest. But in all honesty, I know it's not. Alyssa and I made the dreaded front page for the first time in a long time.

  OLD HABITS DIE HARD

  By: Tabitha Abney

  I guess it's true what they say…old habits are the ones hardest to break. In this case, I'm referring to an old flame. Darren Gracen and Alyssa Lance, to be more specific.

  Who doesn't remember these two lovebirds? After all, they were Sandy Heights' favorite couple, three years running. Could've been four if it wasn't for The Great Divide of 2013.

  Everyone who was living in town during the devastating breakup that year remembers just how horrendous it was. We all had to choose a side. There were pink and blue ribbons being distributed all around town, which we all tied to our mailboxes in support of either Team Darren (blue ribbon), or Team Aly (pink ribbon). The town was divided until the day Aly moved to New York, shortly after their SHU graduation.

  Personally, I was Team Darren all the way. He is such a sweet and thoughtful young man who didn't deserve to be dumped right before his college graduation. But that's beside the point.

  This would be a moot point if Aly hadn't migrated back home earlier this week. The Lances are slowly starting to come back home, which brings joy to my heart. It's just like I always say, you can leave Sandy Heights, but Sandy Heights will never leave you. That's my theory as to why they are all flocking back home.

  Yesterday afternoon, I caught these two lovebirds frolicking on Charge Beach. As soon as they saw each other again for the first time, their lips locked. But I assume they couldn't keep their hands off each other because the kissing led further. To spare you the dirty details, let's just say Darren whipped out his love stick and they both had cake by the ocean.

  That's it for now, but you know I will be following this story closely and report all my findings here first.

  The article is accompanied by a picture of Alyssa and me kissing. The caption reads: True love never dies.

  Fuck me.

  When Alyssa reads this, I'm fucked harder than a pornstar at a frat party. I can correct the rumor about shagging her since there's no proof and that didn't happen. But the picture of me tongue fucking her, I can't refute. It's all right there for the whole damn town to see.

  Alyssa has never been one to like being in the town paper. That’s precisely why she is my primary concern. I wonder how she must feel about this. This article doesn't paint her in the best light. It practically calls her a slag, something she is most certainly not. I will declare that to the whole bloody town if I need to. She doesn't deserve this crap!

  Living in a small town sure has its perks. This rumor mill of gossip is not one of them.

  My first instinct is to reach for my mobile and ring her, but I can't. When this happened back in the good old days, I had her number, so I could give her a ring. This is a dilemma that I will rectify soon. But until then, I have to do it the old-fashioned way…face-to-face.

  I don't know what I look like, and quite frankly, I don't give two shites. I need to get to her. I don't know why I feel the need to console her. We aren't together anymore. She isn't mine, and I am not hers. But for some odd reason, I feel that if I wrap her in my arms, I will somehow be able to shield her from the article and its ramifications. A delusional thought, I know. But despite knowing that, I want to envelop her in my embrace anyway.

  Not wasting any time, I bolt out the door and run. I run as rapidly as I can manage. I'm barefoot and going commando under a pair of sleep joggers, probably giving all the ladies in town a front-row seat to Dicksville. But I don't care. My one-track mind only cares about one thing, and that's her.

  I assume my appearance isn't the most appealing. My hair is probably all tousled and wonky from sleep. And my breath probably smells like arse, considering I didn't bother to take a few minutes to brush my teeth before I left. Thankfully, that's an easy fix. I'll just keep my distance…and my tongue to myself for the time being.

  After I make sure that Alyssa is alright, Abney is next on my to-do list. Hopefully, when I'm done with her, she will print a retraction. Ideally, I'd want her to leave both Alyssa and me out of her gossip rag she claims is a newspaper, but that's never going to happen. Our relationship, or in this case, lack of one, has always been a favorite subject of hers.

  The very first time we made the Gazette was the most personal one. It was after Alyssa and I had sex for the first time. She gave me her virginity, something that should have been sacred and private, Abney splattered across the front page. I was lucky Mr. Lance was living in New York at the time, or he clearly would have ripped my dick off when he saw the picture of my bare arse in a boat. I shake my head at the memory. I swear; Abney has no boundaries. Alyssa and I were mortified. That feeling I felt back then is the same one that I’m feeling now. So, I can only assume that Alyssa will feel that same dreadful feeling too. That is why I need to get to her. Now.

  My heart beats faster with each barefooted step I take closer to Mama Lance's house. I refuse to call her Mrs. Lance because I fear it might be a sore topic for her, considering she separated from her abusive husband years ago. They never got divorced, though, probably because Mr. Lance refused to sign the corresponding paperwork.

  I heard he passed away late last year, around the same time as Hannah’s father, Mr. Montgomery. The two men were like night and day. While Mr. Montgomery was a beloved father and husband, Mr. Lance was feared and hated. Despite this, I bet his death had to be hard on Alyssa. She always refused to believe he was a bad person. He's just misguided, she would tell me over and over again. I get the reasoning behind her defense. No little girl wants to believe that her father is a heartless bastard. But to those of us on the outside looking in, that's what he was indeed. Thankfully, he never laid a hand on her. No, Mr. Lance preferred to use them on Logan instead. I bet he would disagree with Alyssa's misguided theory.

  Each footstep brings me that much closer to her. This overwhelming need to protect her feels both familiar and foreign to me at the same time. It's like trying to write with your non-dominant hand. You recognize the feeling of holding the pen in your hand, but when you go to stroke the ink against the paper, it feels complet
ely different.

  I trek up the exquisite driveway, stopping at the front door. My fist feels unattached to my body as I raise it to knock on the door. Nerves start coursing through my veins. I'm about to see Mama Lance for the first time in half a decade. I've kept my distance from all the Lances since I heard that they moved back. I didn't want to endure the inevitably awkward conversation we would have if I ran into any of them around town. But I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.

  The door swings open, revealing a gracefully aging Mama Lance with a baby fastened at her hip. My heart slams hard against my chest. Please don't let that be Alyssa's son. It's not that I have a problem with Alyssa having children. I don't. It's just I cannot fathom another man touching her long enough to make one.

  In my gut, I always knew Alyssa would be a fantastic mother. It's just, I thought that when that time came, I would be that blessed baby's father. Not some other bloke. Some other bloke I want to punch in the face.

  Her eyes widen when she sees me, her shock clearly evident. Maybe it's because of my unprimed just-got-out-of-bed appearance. Or maybe the mere fact that I'm out here, standing on the other side of her door in the first place. Perhaps it's both.

  I curl my mouth into a smile. "Good morning, Mama Lance. Who's this handsome lad you got here?" I reach over and ruffle his light brown hair. I'm rewarded with a coo from the baby's lips.

  Mama Lance smiles. "This is my grandson, Jack."

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  “Ba, ba, ba, ba, baaaaa!” Jack seems to be occupied with playing his bottom lip like a musical instrument. The lad is adorable; I'll give him that. It's just when I was with Alyssa yesterday, she didn't once mention she had a son. Well, maybe she couldn't with your tongue in her mouth, you wanker. I swear; I tend to be my worst critic.

  "Well, you look like shit," Mama Lance says, quickly covering her mouth when she realizes she cursed in front of Jack. Jack just laughs, untroubled by the profanity.

  I laugh.

  "Why, thank you very much." When the humor of her bluntness fades away, I decide to take a more serious approach. "I came over as soon as I saw the Gazette article. Is she okay?"

  Her smile falls into a frown as she shakes her head. "She's pretty beaten up about it."

  That's understandable and a tad expected. I rub my hand against the back of my head. "Can I please come in and speak with her?"

  I watch intently as her face tightens. She seems to be contemplating my request.

  "I'm not sure that is the best idea. However, I also think you might be exactly what she needs right now." She takes a beat. "I might regret this later, but come on in. She's in the garden."

  I nod in gratitude as Mama Lance sidesteps to the right, allowing me to enter her house with ease. I shoot Jack a two-finger salute as I pass him and his grandmother and make my way through the sliding glass doors.

  After a few quick eye scans through the shrubbery, I spot her. She's kneeling on a blanket in the grass. Dammit! Even from this distance, I can see the blotchy red patches under her eyes. She's been crying, and I don't like that one bit. If Ms. Abney was a man, I would tear him apart for doing this to her.

  Alyssa hasn't noticed my presence yet. Her eyes are fixated on some romance novel she's reading; I can't quite make out which one it is. Not that it matters anyway.

  "Good book there, Cherub?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aly

  His deep, gravelly voice makes my body shudder in response to it.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." Darren curves his lip into a genuine, concerned smile. A polar opposite to the one he wore yesterday, the one that oozed sex. Darren walks his sexy as sin self over to me and crouches down beside me.

  I rack my brain for a response, but I can't concentrate with his shirtless god-body in the same vicinity as my lady parts. He's wearing nothing but a pair of what looks to be sweatpants. They hang precariously low, accentuating the deep and delicious V of his hips. His hair is all out-of-sorts, dark strands twisted in every direction. I fight the urge to latch onto it and yank his mouth toward mine. No matter how badly I want to, now is not the right time.

  The dark shadow of his stubble is oh so tempting to lick. As are his perfect ridged abs, which protrude from his stomach without any flexing on his part. Under his navel is a smattering of dark hair, a treasure trail leading to his pot of gold. God, why is he so damn tempting?

  I shouldn't want him this badly, but I do. It makes no sense. He forced me to end things, end us. So why do I feel like resuscitating our relationship is the best damn idea I've ever had? If we do become an us again, we should take things slow. After all, we don't really know each other anymore.

  Speak, dammit! You still haven't said anything!

  "Oh, don't worry about it." Yep, that is the best I could come up with…unfortunately.

  His eyes are intense as he stares at me. His smile, knowing. Once again, he caught me admiring his magnificent physique.

  He inches his hand closer to my face. For a moment, I think he's going to guide my lips to his. Into a kiss that's so passionate and so mind-fucking that I'll forget all about why I shouldn't want him. About all the reasons our relationship didn't work out the first time. But he doesn't. Instead, he lightly brushes his thumb under my eye. The exact area where my skin is irritated from crying.

  I can only imagine that it appears to match my left asscheek. All red, puffy, and blotchy. I flinch, expecting his touch to hurt, but it doesn't. He massages my skin gently, rubbing little circles from under my eye all the way down to my chin.

  With his hand on my chin, he turns my head so that my gaze is fixated on him. "Don't cry; you're too damn beautiful for that. The article is just some fabricated story that Abney told to sell more papers. Don't let it bother you. You remember how she is."

  This just proves that he doesn't even know me anymore. The Alyssa he knew is long gone. Five years does a lot to a person. Time brings about change. I've changed. He's changed. We've both changed.

  He doesn’t know how detrimental a newspaper article can be. That’s the reason I’m even here in the first place. All because of one misinterpretation of spilled wine.

  I grab his wrist and bring his hand to my lap. I cover the top of it with my other hand, sandwiching it inside as I stare into his eyes. "Don't call me love, sweetheart, baby, or any other term of endearment. I’m not yours anymore.”

  He drags his free hand through his hair and heaves a sigh. "As you wish."

  He looks defeated as his shoulders start to sag. It pains me to do this to him, but I should set the ground rules now if this is going to work.

  "I wasn't just crying over the article," I confess.

  He quirks a brow. "No?"

  I shake my head. "Not exactly. The article is classic Abney. And Abney will just be Abney. I haven't been away long enough to forget how fast gossip spreads in a small town."

  "Then what were you crying about?" He asks so softly it's almost a whisper. It's as if he is afraid to hear my answer.

  “Part of it was the article, but the other part was…you. Me. Whatever this is." I point back and forth between us. “You seriously want to give this another try?"

  He straightens his back and puffs out his chest, projecting confidence in his answer. "Absobloodylutely!"

  His answer takes me by surprise. I was expecting him to take some time to think it over. To ponder the possibility of us becoming an us again. But he didn't even give it a second thought. Most women would probably be overjoyed by his lack of thought, but I'm not like most women. This terrifies me. Not because of us giving our relationship another go. I'm excited about that. But rather because it means that I'm the only person who is thinking rationally here.

  "Are you sure? You don't need time to think about it?" He narrows his eyes at me as he bites his bottom lip. I know this look all too well. It means he's debating whether or not he should say something. "Just say what's on your mind."

  He shifts his
gaze back to mine. "I've spent the last five years of my life trying to get over you. And honestly, I'm not sure I ever did. We were just kids back then. We are both older and wiser now. I owe it to myself to give this another go. If I don't take this opportunity now, I have no doubt that I will regret it for the rest of my life. I never want to say what if. That's no way to live. Even if this doesn't work out and it all turns to shite, at least I can say I tried. What do you say, Alyssa? Want to toss caution to the wind and try with me?"

  My head is still spinning from his confession. He's never gotten over me. Did I damage him that much? If we are ever going to work, we need a fresh start. No past. Just the present. I open my mouth to tell him that when the sunlight reflects off something, blinding me.

  I narrow my eyes to zone in on the culprit. I feel my heart squeeze in my chest when I spot the silver chain hanging around his neck. How did I not notice that before? Around the chain is a—no the—twenty pence coin. He is wearing my graduation present to him. The one I gave him the day I left.

  Tears start to well in my eyes. I drop his hand, placing my hands on his leg. His breath hitches as I let them roam up his thigh, over his abs, and rest at his chest. I clutch the coin in one hand as I twirl the silver chain around the finger of the other.

  "You still have this?" I ask, my voice sounds weak and frail as I fight back tears. He closes his eyes, dips his mouth to my forehead, and presses a kiss against it.

  "I've never taken it off." His words are muffled against my forehead, but I heard every word as clear as day.

  And with that one confession, my walls are obliterated. I'm no longer thinking of all the reasons we should or shouldn't be together. No, all my thoughts are consumed by how much I want this man. Right here. Right now.