Every Time He Leaves (The Raeven Sisters Book 1)

by Karington, Anna

  Jarek kissed me again, for what felt like the thousandth time, but it still wasn't enough. I didn't think I could ever get over that kiss—that it could ever mean anything other than something magical to me.

  He stroked his hand across my belly and promptly leaned down and kissed it, burying his face against me. My flesh felt as if it was on fire. I tossed my head back and savored the attention, the affection.

  This moment feels just as delicious, as carefree. As my body rises nearly to the peak of excitement, I hear the distant memory of the words he whispered, with lips caressing my ear as he spoke just before my climax: “You mean everything to me, Lana.”

  My muscles spasm furiously, my head bobbing back and forth as I feel these powerful sensations explode through me. The intensity of my climax scatters my memory, chasing it back into the corners of my mind.

  As Jarek continues his movements, his face twisting in a way that assures me he's close, I feel terrible for my mind’s betrayal. How could I consider using such a moment to reach a powerful climax? I curse myself, but it doesn't keep me from enjoying the final bit of pressure and the settling of Jarek's body that assures me he's finished.

  Chapter Three

  He lies beside me, resting peacefully. The deep breaths he takes assure me no matter how much I stir, he won't be disturbed, which is a relief because I'm not sure how easy it will be for me to rest after what has transpired. Though my relief after the pinnacle of our excitement temporarily scattered my thoughts, I find them drifting back to that last day, before our encounter.

  I sat on a rock at Lake Dreyfus, just a few miles from the house. It's where I would often sneak off to, sometimes to work on homework, other times just to think. That day, I needed to get away from the hustle and bustle that had followed the news of Daddy's death. An aneurism seemed to me the most mischievous of thieves, the sort that, without warning, could come into someone’s life and destroy everything they had held so dear.

  The smell from the lake, accentuated by the hot day, was rank. Two mallards swam side-by-side. I wondered how one would feel if the other was suddenly plucked from the world by an owl or a hawk. Such a disturbing thought for a seventeen-year-old girl to have, but since hearing the news about Daddy five days earlier, the world had turned dark, as if a shadow had suddenly been cast over a place that had once enjoyed too many days of sunshine.

  “You okay?” came a voice from behind me.

  At first, I resented the voice, because I enjoyed my solitude, and most importantly, I didn't want to be caught in my grief. However, as I turned and saw Jarek behind me, his face as worn and tired as my own surely was, I couldn't help but appreciate that if anyone understood how much I loved Daddy, it would be one of the greatest recipients of his love.

  He sat beside me on the rock, as he'd done on many occasions when we'd slipped away to this place to enjoy the afternoon together, him sharing stories about the girls at college and me telling him about my own drama with my friends in school. The last time I saw him, I was particularly hateful as he described a girl he was interested in. I'd shouted at him about being as sleazy as every other guy, but I knew better, because it was really jealousy. Since he'd left for school, his absence had stirred something within me, alerted me to something I felt for Jarek that was much stronger than friendship. We hadn't made up since that incident, but in light of recent events, I couldn't find a decent reason to be upset with Jarek. If anything, he was my only companion, the only one who could, with a single look, know exactly how I felt, exactly how much pain I was in.

  Without a word, he wrapped his arms around me and held me close. Even with the heat joining his to make me feel as if I was suffocating, I didn't care. I would have rather suffocated in his arms than anywhere else.

  My body trembled. I hadn't noticed until his arms were around me. The tears fell, and soon I felt him trembling as much as myself. We shared our grief in a place that had once been so magical to us both.

  I shake myself from the memory. What's the point of dwelling on the past except to torture myself? I gaze at Jarek, a once sympathetic and understanding creature who had at some moment turned cold and become my nemesis.

  I wake as if from a dream. Last night was surreal. When I was little, I had a dream about our dog Barry returning. He bounced about, running in circles and chasing after finches. We picked up right back where we left off, me throwing sticks across the yard and Janet teasing him with slices of ham before offering them for a reciprocal lick to the face, something that seems increasingly disgusting the older I get. Barry had been dead for two years, and when I woke to discover it was only a dream, I was devastated. Nearly as devastated as when I had similar dreams about Daddy.

  Surely last night with Jarek wasn't real...just another cruel dream, one that makes it seem as if my own mind is warring against me, wanting me to endure emotional turmoil.

  It couldn't have happened. I haven't seen Jarek in so long, and nothing's occurred to suggest he would come back into my life. However, as my thoughts clear and sensations linger in my body, I know it was real. My neck stiffens.

  Don't look, I tell myself, because I'm terrified if I roll over and look at the other side of the bed, he'll be gone. That's what I should expect from a night like that. That's what he's left me knowing must be the outcome.

  As I turn, I discover I'm right.

  I didn't want to be. Why couldn't I have woken when he got up? What time did he leave? Why did he leave?

  No! I shouldn't be asking that question anymore! But there's a little girl in here who isn't strong enough to handle this, and her emotions come racing back to me in the most powerful and painful of ways. Tears stir in my eyes. I rub my face against the duvet furiously. I shouldn't feel this way! I knew this was coming! It's not the same, but it is. I feel that awful emptiness that I felt after Daddy was gone.

  Why did I fall for this trick? Not Jarek's trick, but my own deception. Why did I convince myself I could bear this one-night stand with someone who evoked such powerful sensations within me? How could I be so stupid as to believe I wouldn't feel those same emotions—or that I could handle them? I'm such an idiot.

  The door creaks open. I shift my gaze to the intruder—not just in my room, but my life. My face turns bright red, because he's caught me in the most vulnerable, most embarrassing of moments. I wipe my face against a pillow beside me, working to appear as if I'm wiping the sleep out of my eyes.

  Jarek approaches, his boxers low, giving me a view of those impressive curves outlining his obliques. My gaze lifts to that taut navel surrounded by the muscles in his swollen abdomen.

  “’Morning,” he says, kneeling on the edge of the bed. He leans close and offers a kiss. I don't fight it. I don't know why, because I'm furious with him, but it wouldn't make sense for me to show it, not now that I've worked so hard to put on a front to convince him I can get over him, that he means nothing to me anymore.

  As he pulls away, I say, “’Morning.” I don't want to say much more. Too much talking seems like something a desperate girl would do to keep him around.

  “Sorry. I had to slip out to make a call. I have to head out soon. Got a meeting I need to get to.”

  “Oooh. Sounds fun,” I say, trying to keep my cool, but I can't help but feel that going so far out of my way to appear cool is just making me sloppy.

  “I was going to ask if you wanted to have dinner tonight.” Dinner? Really? What does he think this is? A part of me wants to say yes. She's that same naïve girl who needs me to protect her because she's a moron who believes this means something.

  “That won't work,” I say. “I have plans.”

  “Maybe tomorrow, then?” He's going out of his way to make plans with me? It only makes me want to say yes more, but what's the point? He'll just leave me like he did before, and this is my chance—the one I wanted last night. I can show him I don't care any more than he did back then.

  But the little girl in me reminds me that he might want something mor
e. Don't be stupid, Lana. He's seen you for a night. He doesn't even know who you are. Who you've become. This isn't the Jarek you knew back then. This is a stranger.

  “I might have something then,” I reply. His expression turns serious, as if he's detected my meaning. “Why don't you just give me your number,” I say, “and I'll call you to make plans.” He smiles.

  I was doing well, but I tricked myself into believing I could let him go. For a moment, I was convinced that asking for his number was to reject him, but a part of me really wanted to get my hands on it, because then he wouldn’t be gone. Not like he was back then. At least this time I would have a way to reach him if I wanted to.

  “That works fine,” he says, his smile broadening. I'm disappointed with myself for my agreement, but it was the best I could do after my horror when I believed he'd gone. But here he is, about to go again. This is the moment.

  He slips into his jeans and throws on his shirt. As he enters the bathroom, I assume to throw together some semblance of a look that doesn't scream “one-night stand,” I hop out from the covers and toss on some clothes. Jeans, a blouse that's way too nice for jeans, and some flats. A glance in the floor mirror beside my closet reveals how ridiculous I look, but I shouldn't care. I'm never going to see him again. Wait! What am I thinking? If I want him to know what he's missing out on, I can't look like this. I throw off the blouse and kick off the shoes. I hurry to my dresser and put on a bra. He comes out as I'm buttoning it.

  “Ooh la la,” he says. I chuckle because he saw my full frontal just a few moments ago, so I doubt this is much of a sight. I head out of the room into the kitchen. I've decided to put on a kettle for tea, so I can be busy and not follow him around like I'm eager to spend what little time we have left together. I can at least have some self-respect. He follows me as I grab the kettle and take it to the sink, filling it with water. Who's the desperate girl now?

  He stands there, gawking at me. “Really?” I ask, though I'm not all that bothered. I like that he wants it. It will make it even better when I never call him.

  “Well,” he says, “I guess I'm gonna head out.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, setting the kettle on the stove and turning the heat up. He doesn't move, as if waiting for me to do something, but I can't figure out what. “Bye,” I say. It's an empowering statement, one that's long overdue. I finally get to say goodbye.

  It would have been nice if I'd had the opportunity to ditch him—walk out last night so he wouldn't see me go. Considering I brought him back to my place, it wasn't practical, but it would have been the ultimate “Fuck you!” While I can't have that moment, at least I have this opportunity to excuse him from my apartment, a gratifying moment in and of itself. He tucks his head close to his chest and heads out the door. “Bye, then,” he says, sounding defeated.

  As I hear the door click shut, I feel as good as I hoped. I did it! I reclaimed everything I wanted. Though I had plenty of moments that overpowered me, painful moments where I was afraid of him leaving again, now I feel incredible!

  But his number? He was supposed to give it to me. Maybe I didn't win as much as I thought I had. Maybe he hurt me as much as he could have just by walking out on me like this.

  It's amazing how fast a person can go from feeling totally empowered to feeling as if they've been stripped of everything, left as vulnerable as ever. Because I feel utterly defeated.

  Just move on. That's what you do, Lana. You move on and you move forward, and you can do it again. You know you can. However, my words of encouragement do little right now. I brace myself against the edge of the stove. It's my only source of ease right now.

  I have to get on with my day. I hurry to the cabinet and open it, scrambling for breakfast. As I reach for my box of Captain Crunch, I remember that it was on the counter the night before. However, a sticky note on the side assures me Jarek's the reason for its seemingly miraculous replacement. The note has a number and a winky face scribbled on it. Such a simple gesture fills me with hope. I don't understand why. Why would I feel hope when I'm never going to see him again? Is it just the victory, knowing I've affected him, that I could get his number from him? That at least this time he wants to be in touch with me?

  I pull it off the box. I should rip it up, tear it apart just like I should rid him from my life forever. But I can't end it like this.

  My heart won't let me.

  I set my victory on the counter, beside the sink. Just don't call him. Don't text him. Keep it right there to remember that you could if you wanted to.

  But I'm not sure how much this will help.

  I survive the weekend without being so much as tempted by the sticky note. I wish I could say I've been as good about keeping Jarek out of my thoughts, but that's not true. It has been a constant struggle, but at least I've had work to keep me busy. Our preparations for the internal audit have been enough to keep my mind occupied, only occasionally drifting to thoughts about the man who shouldn't have re-entered my life.

  I scan an invoice from a stack on the table behind me. I would have asked Stephanie's assistant Derren to do it, but Stephanie needed his help organizing a few boxes of receipts from the Merris Foundation event—the one we royally fucked up. Stephanie should have handled those receipts before the event, so I'm pissed that I even have to work on scanning these invoices. I was more than willing to do them when I first saw them in Stephanie's inbox, but she insisted she'd handle it. I guess if she meant she'd just give it to me months later, then she handled it.

  “Lana.” I turn to Stephanie, who stands in the doorway in a tight beige dress and ruby-red high heels that are tall enough that if she tripped, she'd surely break a leg. Her new highlighted extensions fall to her waist. I like this look far more than the bob with bangs she sported last week.

  “Yes?” I ask. Her lips curl upward, assuring me, as they usually do in that position, that whatever she's about to say is good news.

  “Guess who I just got a call from?”

  “Who?”

  “The Frenly Brothers' agent. They've agreed to appear at the fundraiser!”

  I gasp. It's incredible news.

  Farcon & Williams functions as a liaison between nonprofits and their fundraisers. Commissioned to pull off major events, we pull together designers, entertainment, and venues so the organizations do not have to manage these elements themselves. Since our work is to draw financial support to these organizations and because our own income comes from the success of these events, it's ever-important to find something that will draw people to the event. With fundraisers, entertainment is everything, especially with a cause like children with special needs, which, as my research has suggested, has not been a crowd-pleaser this year.

  As the coordinator for this event, it was my responsibility to hire acts that could potentially draw the sort of clients we need in attendance so our hiring company can maximize their donations—and ultimately our profits. While we have a huge folder archiving the various acts willing to work with us, I knew if I could nab someone bigger and better, I'd impress Stephen Farcon, the still-working partner of Farcon & Williams. Also, if this goes off without a hitch, I'll be assuring myself a position within the company.

  With so much riding on the success of the event, the moment I was handed the account, I searched desperately for an act that could attract the money-makers in town. The Frenly Brothers, a duo of violinists who are considered very chic right now and grossed several million for their national tour last year, were at the top of my hit list. I'm baffled they agreed to participate just because of my little letter, but I can tell by the look in Stephanie's eyes that she's impressed.

  “Are you kidding?” I ask.

  “Keep up the good work.” She starts to leave but swings back around and leans against the doorframe. “By the way, my date with Marcus was incredible.” Marcus is a guy she met on eHarmony last week. She considers him very promising, as he's an attorney with some big-wig firm in Roswell. “You don't even know, L
ana. We went out to eat, and then we went back to his place, which is fabulous. I'm talking a waterfall on the wall fabulous. This guy is five stars all the way, and I mean...all the way.”

  I had my own five star evening, thank you very much. “That sounds nice. So when are you seeing him again?”

  “Not sure yet, but I have a feeling about this one.” As she does about all of them.

  When she heads out, I open the scanner and retrieve the first page of my scanned invoice. My phone vibrates. It's Kelsey, texting to see if I'd be interested in playing tennis after work. She knows I can't play, so it's interesting that she asked me. However, I'm fine if it's a chance to spend time with her. Despite the pileup, there's only so much I can do, and I would rather take some time off today than spend all my time trying to play catch up at work. Also, with my Frenly Brothers victory, I think I deserve to get off a little early as a treat.

  When I arrive at the courts, Kelsey is looking adorable in an outfit she clearly purchased exclusively for playing tennis. In a small white skirt, blue blouse, and bright blue shoes, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she is the quintessential tennis player. I could see her playing professionally on ESPN. However, I know her skills, so I'm vividly aware that I could never actually see her playing professionally. Perhaps that's why she wanted to play with me, because I doubt she's concerned about trying to beat me. As for her look, I'm wondering if it is designed to ensnare some man at this country club she so kindly invited me to. I can't really judge her for her efforts. It's what she's always been good at, and considering the shorts and blouse I'm wearing with my five-year-old Nikes, it's no surprise I've been single for nearly three years.

  We play a few rounds, shouting small talk about Mom and Janet before Kelsey reveals she's trying out a new gym where a lot of cute, wealthy men work out.

  “Yeah—I was going to this one in Midtown!” she shouts as she returns the ball over the net. “I thought it was great because all the guys were so nice, but they were more interested in helping me pick out new clothes than going out with me, you know?” I chuckle.