by A. M. Wilson
“Then don’t let me,” I whisper back as the friction between my legs increases. He makes me feel so incredibly good that I can feel it building again.
“I won’t,” he grunts, picking up the pace. “I don’t expect you to say it back until you’re ready. Just wanted.” Grunt. “You to know.” Grunt. “How I feel.”
Oh God. My walls begin to clench around him. “Make me feel it, too,” I pant.
“I plan on it.”
So hot. So beautiful. My body stiffens and begins to shake.
“Fuck, Tatum. Come with me. I’m waiting for you.”
His words, the rough, husky edge of his voice, are all it takes for me to shatter in his arms.
“Yes, baby. Never better. Never.”
We come down slowly together. I’m clutching the desk for fear of crumbling to the ground, and Jacoby has is face buried in my hair just breathing in my scent.
“Meet me at my house in twenty minutes. You leave first and I’ll be right behind you.”
I don’t even have to consider his request. At this point, there’s only one answer that matters. “I’ll see you there.”
Jacoby kisses the side of my head before letting me go. We both right our clothing and exchange shy grins with one another. A swarm of butterflies take flight in my stomach. For the first time in a really long time, I feel like I’m going to be okay. I give him one last lingering smile before I slip out the door and head toward his place. I know we have some less-than-happy topics to discuss, but I don’t have the usual feeling of dread. In fact, I feel lighter than I have as far as I can remember.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Jacoby
“Will you tell me about her?”
Tatum and I are curled up in my bed about two hours after our reconnection in my classroom. For the rest of my employment there, I will never be able to walk into that room without a smile teasing at my lips. Just thinking about what we did has me getting aroused all over again.
We’ve been lying here fully clothed since I met her at my house and found her in my room, lying on my bed waiting for me. As much as I wanted to lay her down for round two, I knew we had to talk. Both of us had secrets to get out and the sooner that happened, the sooner we could move on.
Together.
I’d just begun to tell her about my past. That I grew up in a small East coast town, how I didn’t have any of my own family left. How I fell in love with a girl at the tender age of sixteen, and her family adopted me as if I were their own. Moments away from revealing my deepest, darkest secret and the seed of the guilt I’ve harbored for over two years. How I’m the reason for Harper’s death.
“She was…,” God, it never gets easier to relive the past. I clear my throat and start again. “She was so smart. And beautiful. We started out as friends in high school. I grew up in foster care, but that didn’t matter to her. She came from the perfect home. Loving parents and an older brother who’d do anything to protect her.”
“Did you love her?” Tatum quietly draws along my stomach beneath my shirt while we talk. Her touch is soothing, and I don’t sense any trepidation in her questions. She’s openly curious, but not in a disdainful way. It feels as though she’s trying to soak up everything about me.
“I did. We got engaged during our second year of college. She knew I always wanted to be a teacher, so she went to college with me to keep me motivated. She was majoring in psychology. I questioned myself a lot back then. I didn’t know if I could go through with it. I didn’t have the confidence. But I’ve always had this passion for kids. For wanting to make a difference in their lives and help the ones who grew up in broken homes like I did. So she stuck by me and pushed me when I felt like I couldn’t take one more step.”
“What happened?” She asks quietly, sensing we’re coming to the tragic part of the story. And it was tragic. For Harper and for me. Nobody’s life should be cut short so suddenly.
As soon as the question leaves her lips, I’m thrust back in time.
“Jacoby Ryan?”
Her dull hollow voice floated across the silent expanse of the too bright waiting room as the nurse’s eyes flitted from face to face. My breath caught at the lack of emotion in her tired features—graying hair hung limply from a bun, smudged make up beneath her hardened brown eyes, pale mouth with lips turned down in the corners. I bet she was pretty once, with kind eyes and smile lines instead of the wrinkles that now encased that blank stare. I wiped my sweaty palms against my pant legs, taking just enough time to compose myself.
I cleared my throat, trying to sound more together than I felt inside. “Yes. That’s—I’m Jacoby.” It was hard not to miss the way she scanned me from head to toe, surely taking in the ragged tiredness of my jeans, ripped and dirty from the mud, all the way to my bloody shirt. I didn’t give a fuck about the way I looked.
“This way, please.” She turned without making sure I followed. Of course, I followed like a damn eager puppy dog, but her lack of friendliness was starting to bother me. This woman was either leading me to hear the best possible news or the worst fucking news of my life, and she couldn’t seem to get it together enough to show me some compassion.
She led me down the hallway with white tiled floors and green painted walls, overly bright with fluorescent lighting, and smelled that awful, stomach churning smell of bleach and death. No. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—think of death, because she’s not dead. She was alive and someone was going to take me to her. My stomach rolled, and a light sweat coated my forehead, dizziness erupted from somewhere deep within me so suddenly, I clutched the wall for support. My lungs were fighting to expand against the crushing force within my chest, and I fought it down, forcing myself to breathe deeply against the pain. She was going to be okay. She was fine. They fixed her. This became my mantra.
“Mr. Ryan? Are you alright? Please, step in here,” the nurse said, gesturing to the next room on my right. Her mask of indifference finally slipped into one of compassion—wait, was that sympathy? No. I mentally shook myself, no.
“I’m fine,” I replied, as she started reaching for me. Pushing myself off the wall, the only crutch I had, I followed her into the room.
The room was small with space for only a mahogany desk and two padded chairs. The walls were painted an obnoxiously bright shade of yellow, and a framed painting of a colorful meadow adorned the wall above the desk. A row of floor to ceiling windows were behind the seating, but the blinds were closed. Which fucking sucked because I needed something to focus on besides the crappy painting.
“Have a seat Mr. Ryan. The surgeon will be in briefly to speak with you.”
I stood frozen, watching her examine me, probably weighing if she should leave me alone after my episode in the hallway. She must have convinced herself I’d be fine, because she turned towards the door and began walking past me.
“Wait! Please, wait,” I called out abruptly, surprising myself as much as her. She turned slowly to face me, her careful mask was still firmly in place, no sign of the emotion she revealed in the hallway. “Is she,” I started but my throat clogged up. “Is she okay?” I tried again, desperate for something, to not be left alone with my own racing thoughts again. This was it. The clock was ticking down, and I was about to know if my life was going to be okay, or if my life was going to end. And as much as I needed to know the answer, I dreaded the answer. As much as I wanted to know right then, I wanted to stop time and never know. I didn’t want to live this. This was not supposed to be my life. I looked that nurse directly in the eyes, my own eyes implored her to answer me. She shook her head slowly.
“You need to wait for the doctor to speak with you. I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything.” She reached out, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze, and to my shame, my eyes welled with tears. “Do you need me to wait with you?” She asked in a soft voice I hadn’t yet heard her use.
My breath came out in an unintentional huff. Fucking tears. “No. Thank you.” I willed myself not to cry, not ye
t anyway. Not until I was alone.
I turned my back to her hoping she took that as a cue to leave.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, I took off like an animal in captivity. I paced that tiny fucking room over and over, back and forth. I sat down for what felt like minutes, when really only seconds had passed, and I jumped back up again, not content to sit and wait. I walked to the windows, peaked out beneath the shades to the view of downtown stories below me. I’d been there all night; it was early morning, and people were bustling about on their way to work. Work. What a joke. I don’t think I’d ever work again after this. Just days away from finishing a teaching degree, a degree she helped me work through. What was the point? If she’s, fuck, if she’s gone, there won’t be a point. My life would be meaningless.
I gazed down at the street below, the people nothing but colorless specks, wondering what it would feel like to jump. To freefall, flying towards the ground from a dizzying height, letting go of fear. Of everything. I’d never been much of a hopeful person, and right then, I was feeling pretty fucking hopeless. I wanted her to recover. God, I needed her to recover. But I saw the blood. I saw her lying there, a broken mess of limbs. She looked like a fallen angel—broken—yet, still so amazingly beautiful.
The familiar click of the door startled me, and I snapped the shade back as if I had been caught doing something I shouldn’t. They wouldn’t know the disturbing direction of my thoughts.
A tall man walked in, his hair covered by a surgical net, wearing what I assumed to be fresh scrubs. At least he had the decency to change his fucking clothes. There was no way he worked on her and came out blood free. I was going to be sick.
“Mr. Ryan, my name is Dr. Kunst. I am the lead surgeon of the team who took care of Miss Lewis. Please, sit.” He gestured to the chairs beside the desk. Dr. Kunst also wore the tired eyes of the nurse; but in contrast, his were sympathetic and filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.
“I can’t. Please just tell me.” I begged. I was done with formal niceties. “Is she alive?”
I knew the answer before he spoke; I could feel it in the deepest parts of me. Maybe if I’d paid attention to my gut earlier, instead of quieting my own thoughts, I’d have known sooner. I could have prepared myself better. I could sense it in the way he took a deep breath, the way he extended his arm to my shoulder, the way his head drooped slightly in acknowledgement to my pain.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ryan. Her injuries were too extensive. We did everything we could.”
I come back to the present when I feel Tatum’s small, warm hand squeezing my bicep. “It’s okay. I’m here,” she soothes, and when her soft fingers caress my cheek, I realize I’ve been crying.
“Thank you. I’m okay.” I grab her hand from my face and plant a kiss on her palm. “We were on our way to our monthly dinner at her parent’s house. The college we went to was about four hours away, and we lived together in an apartment off campus. We were so…excited. Her dad had recently had a heart attack, but we weren’t able to make it home to see him due to finals. Neither of us could wait to get home and share the news we decided to move the wedding sooner. We had originally planned to get married after we graduated, but Harper was so worried her dad wouldn’t make it until then.
“I was stupid.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I have to clear my throat to continue. “I was distracted. It was raining, and she kept kissing me while I drove and I let her. Fuck, but I should have told her to stop.”
Tatum snuggles up closer to me, sensing my need for comfort. I pull her closer until her body is flush with my own and let the soft strands of her hair sift through my fingers.
“She was getting hot, so she took off her seatbelt to remove her coat. I looked over at her, laughing and scolding her to buckle back up. I didn’t see the car coming right at us.” I feel, rather than hear, Tatum’s gasp against my body. “Yeah. Some drunk fuck crossed the median and hit us head on. I lost control on impact, and we went rolling down a ravine. She was alive on the way to the hospital and went into surgery but she…she didn’t make it.”
She was covered with a sheet up to her shoulders, her pale skin ghostly white, deep purple and blue bruises blossomed across her beautiful skin. It was Harper, my beautiful, beautiful Harper. And she was dead.
I catalogued her features, committing her to memory for the last time. Her dark hair was damp and matted around her swollen face. Her thick dark lashes rested gently, fanning against her pale cheeks. I ignored the scratches marring her delicate skin as I gently traced the curve of her nose, the soft pale pink of her once cherry red lips. I reached down, searching for her hand one last time, and found it hard, limp, unmoving beneath mine.
My world shattered into a million fucking pieces.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking, cracking. “I love you, Harper. I’m so sorry.” I squeezed her hand for the last time, kissed her lips for the last time. I touched her for the last time.
Tatum’s voice calls me back. “I’m so sorry. God, I know those words are stupid, but I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry that happened to you and to her.”
“I appreciate those words from you, Sweetheart, but I don’t deserve them. If it weren’t for me, she’d still be alive.”
She pulls her body off mine before she drops back down straddling my abdomen. She leans down and takes my face in her hands, pressing her forehead to mine. Her scent soothes me, apricots and rain. I close my eyes and take comfort in the way she surrounds me. Her body wrapped around mine, her smell permeating the air, her hair providing a curtain around our faces. The feel of her hands pressing into my skin has me meeting her soft gaze. Her hazel eyes look so sad, and desperate, and determined.
“Jacoby, no. I can tell just from your voice that you hold onto so much guilt for what happened, but you have to let it go. It’s not your fault. You said it yourself, some drunk hit you head on. You were young and in love, acting silly. We all make mistakes, but your mistake is not what killed her. It was the other driver’s actions that led to your wreck.”
“Well, lucky for him he died, so he doesn’t have to live with the guilt. I do. At least I can honor her life by carrying around the weight of her death.”
“If she loved you as much as it sounds, she wouldn’t want that for you. I know I wouldn’t. She’d want you to move on and live your life. The best way to honor her is to go on living, Jacoby. Not carry around your guilt like a burden.”
I appreciate her thinking so highly of me, but the guilt is mine to carry around until I learn not to. Maybe someday I’ll reach that point, but today is not that day. I grasp one of her wrists, and pulling the black band back, I press her soft flesh to my mouth in a tender kiss. Her breathing stalls and gasps before picking up twice as fast. It’s time to change the subject.
“I understand these. Maybe not the exact reason you do it, but I relate to the urge. And it fucking kills me to know you had a pain strong enough the only way to feel was to hurt yourself.”
“I take that to mean it’s my turn?” She asks, shifting restlessly against me. This time there is trepidation in her tone. I pull her down beside me and settle us both on our backs.
“I want you to say as much or as little as you need to. We’ve talked about your mom and your past before, so I think I can understand where you were coming from. When I first saw the marks, I was surprised, and I acted out of fear. But I was never angry at you for what you were doing. I was afraid. The only thing I care about now is how to help you stop. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just tell me what I need to do because I can’t lose you, too. I can’t.”
Life is messy and unpredictable. It doesn’t deliver you a neatly wrapped package. Life hands out lessons that are hard to understand, difficult to endure, and many times downright tragic. It’s our job to take those lessons and turn them into a gift. If I’ve learned anything the last several weeks, it’s that there is always a gift. You just have to be willing to open your eye
s and see it. It wasn’t until Tatum came into my life that I figured out my gift.
Losing Harper was the hardest thing I have ever experienced. She taught me how to grow and love, how to accept myself and what those around me had to offer. She showed me a simple side to love and life, and I’ll be forever grateful.
Though, as much as it pains me to say, if I hadn’t lost Harper I wouldn’t have Tatum.
Where Harper was simple and sweet, Tatum is a shooting star of fire and determination. She’s sassy and sharp, and she keeps me on my toes. She came barreling into my life in a ball of fire but just as quickly disappeared beyond the horizon. It wasn’t until she was gone that I realized I’ve been living in the dark. I wanted the brightness back.
I’m ready to fight with my life to get it.
“I meant what I said at the hotel,” Tatum replies, answering my request. “I can’t do it anymore. Not just mentally, like I know it’s bad for me. I mean, I tried to do it, and for the first time in four years, I was afraid of the pain. And I was ashamed of what you’d think.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of what I think. I’ll never think badly of you. But I want to understand. Can you explain it to me?”
Tatum lets out a slow, heavy breath. “It’s like, a desperation. You know about what happened last year with my mom. What I haven’t told you was that she’s been like that my entire life. Our house had a revolving door of drugs and men, and ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always felt so helpless. So out of control. I didn’t have any friends. I had no one to talk to, and I was all alone. I think, well I know, hurting myself was my way of regaining that control. I kept it a secret and that excited me. It made me feel like I had something nobody else knew about, and it was mine. It was something that couldn’t be taken away from me.”
