Jaded Hearts (Loaded Replay #1)

by Harper Sloan

  I clench my eyes, more tears falling, and feel Dyllan take my hand—feeding me some strength through her hold.

  “I love you, hubby,” I sob softly.

  Chance’s eyes flash; he takes a step closer but doesn’t touch me. We both know if he does, he won’t be able to finish this. “I love you. Always. Now, do it.”

  Taking a deep breath, I will my tears away before squaring my shoulders and opening the dressing room door. “I’m sick of acting like I love you!” I scream, storming out of the room with him hot on my heels.

  “What do you mean?” he questions, sounding confused.

  I continue to rush down the hall, him keeping speed with me. “I’m sick of it!” I yell, repeating it over and over while we travel to the large area behind the stage. All of the crew is putting things together on, under, or around the stage. Those not working on that are in the space with us. Everyone who we need to hear is right here.

  “It’s over. I don’t love you. I was just having fun. Now that Jamison is ready to be with me, you need to get the fuck away from us.”

  It will never be over. I love you.

  “You don’t mean that,” Chance answers, sounding wrecked. In my head, I scream that he’s right, I don’t; I would never say this.

  “Yes, I do. You make me sick! Now, get the fuck out of here so that I can get back to the man I love!”

  Don’t go. Never go!

  His shoulders drop, and he makes one more attempt to reach me, but I back away. It takes everything I have not to pull him into my arms.

  “Wren, we can fix this. I love you, baby.”

  That’s when I feel Jamison, right on cue, and my stomach hurts with the pain of what’s about to come.

  “She said to fuck off,” he cruelly hisses.

  Then I feel my body being turned. Jamison looks down at me, his face not giving away anything, and I pray to God mine isn’t either. Then he pulls me to him and presses his mouth to mine. It feels wrong. I feel like my heart is being shredded. The kiss isn’t long, but it wasn’t just a peck. When he lifts his head and gives me a wink, I know it’s an act, but that wink crushes me.

  “He’s gone now. Come show me how much you missed me,” Jamison continues his game, the roaring in my ears matching the throb of where my heart used to be.

  True to his word, after the kiss, he would leave.

  Even though I knew it would happen, looking up and seeing Chance gone makes it all seem like it wasn’t an act at all.

  I don’t feel the familiar adrenaline rush hitting my body when we finish our show. I’m not even sure I was one hundred percent there tonight on stage either. We got through the show, though, and no one besides the four of us, Chance, and Dyllan were aware that our heads were not in the game. To them, we gave them a great show. Jamison and I made sure to play off each other more than we ever would. The banter between the four of us amped up not because we love being in our hometown, but because we know we have to continue to play our parts.

  However, I draw the line at flirting on stage. It’s one thing to put this lie on for the crew, knowing we have to, but it’s another to betray my relationship to Chance with the world.

  My stomach knots when we finish and walk off the stage. No one is around to take my shit this time, so I drop the mic, placing it on the table with the other backup mics. I rip my earpieces off and throw them in the same general direction as the mic.

  I knew Chance wouldn’t be standing here when we finished. His vacant normal spot reminds me of what his face looked like earlier—raw and real pain slicing through his features. It was fake—that’s what I keep reminding myself—but he made it look so real that I can’t help thinking it might have been. What if I lost him forever because of this?

  Luke and Wes keep back, but as planned, Jamison saddles up to my side and kisses my temple.

  “Get your sweet ass back in the dressing room, dollface. I want you naked, bent over, and just waiting for me to come get my prize.”

  I giggle. It’s what they told me to do. Running off with a sassy wave, I head toward our dressing room.

  I’m terrified, but I know Chance is here. I feel his eyes on me the second I turn the corner, headed down the hallway in a rush for our dressing room.

  When I get the door open, I pace quickly to get some of the jitters out of my body. I want to call out to see if Dyllan is still inside the bathroom, waiting, just in case, ready.

  I’m standing there for so long, I start to fear maybe Chance wasn’t right, and it isn’t someone on the crew. What if I have to do this again tomorrow? Or worse, what if I have to take this shit public? Can I go on with this if we don’t end it tonight?

  The door opens, and I reach up to start unzipping the zipper that runs the length of my tank top, right between my tits. “Took you long enough,” I hum seductively, turning while lowering the zipper.

  “You just couldn’t listen.”

  I finish my turn quickly when I hear a voice that I know doesn’t belong.

  “You couldn’t just stay away? He was going to be mine! You couldn’t just continue being a whore with that man, could you? You had to ignore my warning and move back in on my man!”

  I back up, trying to get away from her. “Kellie?” I ask, playing like I don’t understand her. “What warning?”

  “I should have killed you that night I broke into your hotel room. If I had killed you then, I wouldn’t have to do it now. You’re making me kill a baby, and I don’t like that, you slut.”

  “Kellie, I don’t understand,” I rush, trying to let the fear of her words wash over me. Chance said we needed to get her on tape. We need to get as much as we can on tape—that hopefully, Dyllan is recording—so that we ensure she goes away for a long time.

  “You just think you’re so perfect.” She takes a step away from the door, her eyes looking manic and completely out of control. “You’re nothing but a whore, and there is no room on this earth for people like you.”

  “But my baby,” I hedge, holding out my hands and begging—not even faking the terror I feel. For the first time since all this started with Chance, I’m thankful that the ‘baby’ in question was never real.

  “You’re not that far along. Your belly is still flat. But I’ll make sure and stab you right through the belly so your baby dies quickly and doesn’t feel the pain of its dirty, nasty mother.”

  Oh. My. God.

  She advances, lifting up her arm to show a lethal, terrifying knife. I back up, trip, and fall to the floor just in front of the bathroom. I hear Dyllan make a cry in alarm, but thankfully, she doesn’t leave the safety of the room where she’s hiding.

  Just when Kellie takes another step, still too far away from me to get her hands on me, the door opens, and the blessed sight of Chance with four Los Angeles police officers enter with practiced ease. I can’t even focus on them because I’m sobbing so hard that my vision is blurry with tears and lack of solid air. I feel slim arms wrap around me, and I jerk in the hold.

  “It’s just me,” Dyllan reassures, curling around the ball that I’ve turned myself into. “It’s okay, Wren. Everything’s over, and you were so brave.”

  Dyllan keeps holding me, rocking me softly, until long after the cops, Chance, and the crazy woman leave. When I finally look up, seeing the room empty of the one man I need more than anything right now, I lose it again.

  God, what if I lost him because of this? What if, even though it was his plan, he can’t get over seeing Jamison kiss me?

  What have I done?

  Wes, Jamison, and I walked out of the LAPD hours later both mentally and physically tired. Before this all went down, we planned for Luke—along with Hunter—to stay back and be in charge of Wren and Dyllan. The plan was to get them out of the arena and back to the house, where we would hopefully be right behind them.

  But that was when I had assumed we would be in and out quickly. We were handing them an open-and-shut case, along with the responsible party. But no one can ever ac
cuse them of not being thorough.

  In the end, Kellie Wallton wouldn’t be a free woman for a long damn time. She was talking nonsense that no one could understand for hours. Finally, they listened to my suggestion to mention Jamison’s name. After that, she sang like a fucking canary.

  “God, that bitch was certifiable.” Jamison drops heavily into the back of the SUV I arranged to be waiting for us.

  “Whatever is beyond that. That’s what she is.” Wes sounds as tired as he looks when he drops his body into the front seat with a heavy slump.

  I don’t add my thoughts. I want to say plenty, but right now, all I can focus on is my need to get to Wren.

  When I left, seeing her fallen and in a tight protective ball, sobbing into Dyllan, I felt like my heart had stopped beating. The need to get to her, show her that we’re okay, is a beast inside me. I know why she didn’t want to do this, but I also know she was putting her trust in me—to show me that she believes the words she changed my life with—but that she fears she lost me in the process. It was my plan. I knew Jamison would kiss her in the end. It needed to happen to be believable if, in fact, I was correct about the crew worker end. They had to see that; not so they would believe Wren and I were ending, but so they would see Jamison betraying what she believes was some sort of relationship.

  It worked.

  I just have to prove to Wren that this will never change us.

  “How is she?” I ask Dyllan, my voice not sounding like my own.

  Weak.

  Worried.

  But my body feeling confident.

  “She cried herself to sleep.” She sighs, standing from the couch that she had been sleeping on.

  “Fuck.” My shoulders slump, and I feel terrible for ever asking this of her. Even knowing it was the right move doesn’t take away the pain of her heartache.

  “You know, she loves you, Chance. She’s hurting because it wasn’t me she wanted here—but I think she’s scared out of her mind that she finally found her happy ending only to have it tainted by this woman. She believes in you, that much is clear, but she’s out of her mind that shit earlier was in the same category as her cheating.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t say it makes sense. She’s new at this. Go show her what true love feels like,” Dyllan whispers, a sad smile on her face.

  I walk down the hallway toward Wren’s room. The lights are off when I open the door and walk through the miniature living room to stand at the end of her massive bed. She’s curled up on the very edge of the bed with her red hair fanned around her. She looks even smaller than she normally does, the large bed swallowing her size.

  Her breath hitches in her sleep. The sound that you hear small kids make after they’ve been crying uncontrollably for so long. It snaps me into action, kicking off my boots and pulling everything off except my briefs—needing to feel her against my skin.

  She doesn’t move when I climb onto the bed behind her. Not even when I wrap my arm around her and pull her against my body. The kisses I pepper up her bare arm aren’t noticed. But when I move my mouth to her ear and whisper her name, she jolts, coming away instantly with a soul-wrenching sob.

  “Hey,” I coo, trying to console her. “Baby, calm down and take a deep breath. I’m here, Wren.”

  Her breath hitches, sounding painful as it catches in her throat, and she shifts out of my arms to sit up, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them.

  “Talk to me,” I beg, feeling helpless. I sit up and try to reach out to her, but she pulls back, almost falling off the bed.

  “I didn’t want to do it,” she cries, her face wet with the tears falling rapidly.

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  “I’ve never felt so sick about something in my life. I hated it.” She shakes her head back and forth. “It killed me to see that look on your face, knowing you were about to see me with another man.”

  “Wrenlee, I know it wasn’t real. I know it didn’t mean anything.”

  “I promised to fix all those destroyed pieces, and I took a hammer right to the heart of them and heaved a swing full of damage.”

  God, she’s killing me. I reach out, placing my hand on one of her arms. Her head jerks up, eyes colliding with mine, and she lets out a cry from deep in the pit of her belly. “Wrenlee,” I try again, hoping she hears me.

  “I’m so sorry,” she shakily cries.

  “Baby, you have nothing to be sorry for. You were so brave. I should never have asked that of you, but I knew it was the only way to end it quickly. My gut has never been wrong. I took a gamble, but I did that because you taught me I had the strength to do it in the first place.”

  “I kissed another man, Chance. I betrayed us.”

  Having enough, I grab her and roll our bodies until I’m on top of her at the other edge of the bed. My hands cupping her face, my mouth just a breath away from hers, and my body holding her where I know she will be forced to hear me.

  “You played the part that needed to be played to ensure that not only was that sick fuck put away for good, but you did it for us too. Maybe it would have been better weeks ago, but I’ve been working without the full deck this whole time. I couldn’t do anything to change the timeline. And I wouldn’t even if I could. It’s because of that time you’ve healed me with your love. We used that time wisely because we built something together that will never be breakable. You told me once that everything happens for a reason, and Wren, I need you to believe those words.”

  “All I see when I close my eyes is your face when I told you I didn’t love you,” she wobbles through her mouth.

  “I know you didn’t mean it. I was playing my part.”

  “It killed me to think that you might not be able to look at me again.”

  “No, Wren. That would never happen.”

  “It’s really over?” she asks with tears still in her voice.

  “It’s over. Now, it’s time for us to begin the rest of our forever.”

  “I love you, so much.” Her eyes are still blurry with tears, but she is smiling up at me instead of looking heartbroken.

  “God, Wren. You will never know how much I love you.”

  “Then show me.”

  “Then show me,” I whisper, my words just a breath of air between us.

  He studies my face before lowering his mouth. He doesn’t go to my mouth, which is what I expected. Instead, he starts to kiss the wetness on my cheeks. Moving from side to side with each soft brush of his mouth, he removes the evidence of my sadness. He doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied that he’s removed every wet line. Lifting up to study me one more time, he presses his lips to mine—finally.

  He doesn’t rush our connection.

  His mouth takes mine in a deep, slow, soul-consuming kiss. Each lazy swipe and tangle of his tongue against mine sends a shockwave of bliss straight down my spine, exploding in a small burst of pleasure between my legs. I’m desperate for him; the need to have him fill me the only way he can hits a fever pitch. My legs scissor, trying to get loose of the hold his body on top of mine has so I can spread them wide and feel him against me wholly.

  Chance makes a noise, one that I swallow through our fused mouths, telling me he’s denying me and to remind me he’s in control. I whine, pathetically.

  He pulls back, his mouth wet from our kisses, eyes roaming over my face and down to my chest, covered by the material of the shirt I had yanked on before falling asleep earlier—his shirt. I watch his eyes flare the second he notices whose shirt I’m wearing, but still, he doesn’t speak. His weight shifts minutely on top of me so he can balance on one elbow. He brings his free hand up, long dexterous pointer finger extended as he traces the font on the front of the shirt—placed in the perfect center of my chest.

  My nipples strain, begging him to do more than dance over them. He has to notice; how could he not? But still, he denies me. Slowly, repeating the process—over and over—until I’m writhing with need under him. All from
the subtle brush of the tip of his finger as he traces some stupid brand name on the cotton. I’m pretty sure I’ll never look at American Eagle the same again.

  When he looks back up, his eyes are pure liquid. The green and blue swirls are twisting together so vibrantly; it almost looks like they’re really moving. The color on his tan cheeks tells me he is burning for me just as badly as I’m burning for him.

  No words are needed.

  No sweet nothings.

  None of that.

  Because when he gives me this completely open expression, I feel like I can see straight into his heart.

  Without looking away, he moves us so that I’m on top—hands resting against his defined stomach muscles, legs spread to welcome the cotton-covered thickness, and wild hair dancing around my face. His hands rest on my bare thighs as his thumbs rub in soothing sweeps. I have only a second to sink in his unguarded handsome features before he slowly lifts his back from the bed. His abs ripple under my palms as he moves his hands up my body, dragging my shirt and arms up in the process until he has me naked except for my panties.

  His head dips, eyes still connected to mine, and he opens his mouth around one of my pointed nipples. He sucks—greedily—pulling not just my nipple into his mouth, but also the meaty flesh of my breast. His suction doesn’t ease as he flattens his tongue and slathers my nipple with attention. I squirm, rubbing myself against his hardness, the pleasure of it zinging through me. When he pinches my free nipple, I whine.

  I’m dizzy with need. Having his hands and mouth on my sensitive breasts while my pussy soaks my panties only heightens the demand for more. I lose his hand when I start rocking, and he grabs both sides of my hips to stall the process.

  I could cry with disappointment.

  He switches to the other breast, and I roll my head back, unable to hold myself up anymore, trusting his hold on my hips to keep me where we both want him to be.

  It isn’t until I truly feel like I’m going to go into a lust-driven madness that he finally removes his mouth with a soft pop, echoing through my bedroom. He lifts me off his hips, setting me on my ass next to him before rolling off the mattress and standing next to the bed. I sit up and turn, my legs straight in front of me. If I pointed my feet, I could probably graze my toes against the bulge in his briefs. As soon as the thought hits my mind, though, he hooks his thumbs in the waistband and pulls them down his legs, kicking them behind him with no care to where they land. His thick cock springs free, pointing directly at me, a drop of come drips from the ruddy tip as I study him, telling me that he enjoys my appreciation.